Holly Bears the Crown
by Caitlinlaurie
Summary: Instead of a son born in summer, a daughter is born in winter. There is still a prophecy and Privet Drive, but for Holly Ivy Potter nothing is quite what it could have been had a brother been born in her place. Girl Who Lived fic.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Holly Bears the Crown

**Author:** Caitlinlaurie

**Rating:** M, for some Adult Themes, and Sexual Situations

**Fandom:** Harry Potter

**Summary:** Instead of a son born in summer, a daughter is born in winter. There is still a prophecy and Privet Drive, but for Holly Ivy Potter nothing is quite what it could have been had a brother been born in her place. A Girl Who Lived fic.

**Warnings: **This is book canon up to 1979, but after that it is very AU. It is not a mere retelling of the books, especially after year two. There are also canon and non-canon pairings, canon and non-canon characters surviving, and canon and non-canon character deaths. Please do not read if this bothers you.

**Notes:** I am very fond of taking cliché ideas and twisting them. One such idea is the Girl Who Lived. While some of these stories reflect major changes, many of them just put a girl in Harry's place and let everything unfold the same way. But a girl's experiences growing up, and even entering the magical world would be very different from a boy's. Especially a girl savior of the Wizarding race. I wanted to take a look at what would change if the prophecy had always referred to a girl, and Holly Potter had always been the only target.

Please also note, I heavily use the books, including _Quidditch through the Ages_, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and the new information from Pottermore.

**Disclaimer:** All characters and their canon histories are the property of J.K Rowling.

* * *

_The holly and the ivy, _

_When they are both full grown,_

_Of all the trees that are in the wood, _

_The holly bears the crown._

_Oh, the rising of the sun _

_And the running of the deer,_

_The playing of the merry organ, _

_Sweet singing in the choir._

_The holly bears a blossom_

_ As white as lily flower,_

_And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ _

_To be our sweet savior_

_—Traditional English Christmas Carol_

* * *

Prologue

Hovering on the edge of the doorway, Lily Potter watched her husband of a month and a half and nervously bit her lip. She had never been fearful to tell James something in her entire life, but she was feeling uncommonly petrified over what she was about to relate. It would change their lives completely, and she wasn't sure if her recently nineteen-year-old husband was ready for it. She wasn't sure if _she_ was ready for it.

"James."

He looked up from his book on warding stones and regarded his wife with growing confusion. Lily was hovering, and she never hovered. Putting _A Complete Guide to Runic Wards_ aside, James gave her his full attention. He briefly wondered if it was something to do with the Order. "What's wrong, Lily? Did Dumbledore floo-call?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she said, twisting her hands. "I have something to tell you." Lily stepped into the room and sat on the sofa.

James covered her hands with his own. "Tell me," he commanded gently. "What ever it is can't be as bad as all that."

"Oh, no," Lily said, her green eyes immediately looking up and meeting James's hazel ones. "Nothing bad, just unexpected. James, I'm pregnant."

"Pr-pregnant?" he repeated. "How?"

Lily laughed a little at this. "The usual way, I imagine. Remember the honeymoon? Those long days and nights stayed in bed obviously did the trick."

"The honeymoon?" he sputtered, dropping her hands and running them both through his hair. "But, we've only been married…I thought that…I never…"

Her smile then started fading away. "Are you angry?"

James jerked his face to hers, looking shocked. "Angry? No, never!" he replied fervently. Reaching out, he clasped their hands together again and kissed her tenderly. When they pulled away, he said, "I'm just surprised. It took my parents sixty years to conceive me, and there wasn't even a miscarriage before that. I never even considered that it would happen so quickly with us."

She grinned, happy again. "Well, we weren't very good at using conception charms, and since I refused to take the potion…it was only time, really."

He laughed. "I love you."

"I love you," Lily replied.

"You've given me a son, Lils," James said, pulling her close. "I don't know how to thank you."

"It could be a girl," she answered back with a laugh.

"Boys are always the firstborn in the Potter family," James said. "And second too. Sometimes a girl is born much later, but it's rare. I can count the number of girls born to our family in the last two thousand years on one hand. No, this will be a boy. Our son." He leaned forward and reached out and cupped her stomach. "Our little Elvendork."

Lily smacked him upside the head.

"Oi!"

* * *

The night air in Hogsmeade was brisk and cool, and it bit eagerly at the face of Albus Dumbledore as he walked down the cobblestone road. Though it was late April, spring had yet to show its face that year in Scotland. Due to that, and the amplified hostilities of the war that were ever increasing, the venerable Headmaster was alone on the street that led to the Hog's Head Inn. As much as he liked stretching his legs, Dumbledore rather resented having to go and speak to his brother, just because the taciturn publican couldn't be bothered to put quill to parchment.

Dumbledore had just turned a corner when his shoulder clipped a smaller cloaked figure hurrying his way, knocking them to the ground. "Oh, I do beg your pardon," he said, reaching over and helping up the fallen stranger.

The hood of the cloak fell back, and the Headmaster saw a thin, bespectacled woman with dark hair. "Worry not, my good man," she said in a soft, ethereal voice. "I knew that would happen."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, somewhat confused by the odd, bug-like looking woman before him. He could smell the scent of sherry on her, and wondered if her mind wasn't befuddled by spirits. "I ask your forgiveness all the same," he said.

She nodded her head. "You have it, in fact…" she stopped speaking and went rigid. Her fingers cut into Albus's own hand, but he could not pull it away. She had him locked in a now iron grip.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…" her voice had gone harsh and guttural. "BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN ON THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HER AS HIS EQUAL, BUT SHE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NIETHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN ON THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR…"

The woman's head fell forward onto her chest and she grunted. Then, suddenly, her head snapped back up and she looked Dumbledore straight in the eye. "The Inner Eye has informed me that I must not appear all knowing and therefore allow accidents to happen, lest I anger strangers," she said, her voice back to the floaty, wispy way of speaking she had before. "Thank you for your help, kind sir. Now I must be going."

"Wait," Dumbledore called out as she hurried away. "What is your name?"

"Sybill Trelawney," she said, turning to go.

"I am Albus Dumbledore," he informed her. Trelawney, he turned the name over in his mind for a moment. There had been a famous seer named Cassandra Trelawney. He then nodded his head. It seemed the family gift wasn't as extinguished as had been thought. Clearing his throat, he said, "Tell me, Miss Trelawney, have you ever considered teaching Divination? Professor Delphi is set to retire almost one year from now. He will need a replacement."

The woman smiled, pleasantly surprised, and Dumbledore tried to hide the dread which filled him.

* * *

"And we will need someone to work the reconnaissance mission a fortnight from now," Doge said, looking out over the assembled group of people. "Lily, how about you?"

Lily blushed, and looked to her husband, and he nodded his head. "I'm sorry, Elphias. Sorry, Headmaster." She inclined her head to Dumbledore who was seated at the head of the table. "I'm afraid I won't be able to participate in any missions until after Christmas. I'm pregnant, you see."

The basement room under the Hog's Head Inn exploded with good cheer, as wizards and witches rushed to congratulate the Potters. In times of war, it seemed that every wedding and every birth was a glimmer of light in the darkened world they now found themselves.

Sirius clapped James on the back and shook his hand, laughing about James keeping secrets. Marlene McKinnon embraced Lily, putting her hands on the redhead's stomach and whispering words of blessing, while Alice Longbottom joked about an active honeymoon. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew started taking bets about the baby's birth date, and the Prewett twins were taking them on the sex. Dedalus Diggle was bouncing on his heels, and Alastor Moody grunted out a congratulations. Frank Longbottom and Edgar Bones volunteered to pick up Lily's missions, while Caradoc Dearborn spoke quietly with Emmeline Vance, who had a warm look in her eyes.

"Isn't it wonderful news, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall asked the Headmaster, smiling benevolently at James and Lily who were wrapped up in each other as the celebrations continued around them.

Dumbledore simply nodded, his heart heavy.

After the meeting, he pulled James and Lily aside and led them up to a private room in the Hog's Head Inn. Once the door was secured and the privacy spells in place, the aged warlock turned to the young couple with tired resignation in his eyes. It hurt to even look at them. Lily was glowing with happiness, and James wasn't much better, looking both smug and awed, all at the same time.

"I'm sorry to trouble you this evening," Albus said, feeling weary. "But I think there is something that you both should know."

Lily and James, who sat side by side, exchanged a look and then turned their heads back to their former Headmaster. "Of course, Professor," James said.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I am no longer your Headmaster, James; you may call me Albus, as I have told you before."

James just grinned.

"Well," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat. "About two weeks ago, I was just outside this very pub when I ran into Sybill Trelawney, the descendant of Cassandra Trelawney." He had the Potters full attention now. "She related to me a prophecy. A prophecy which I think refers to your unborn child."

James laughed. "Professor, you know Divination is a load of shite. I'm surprised at you."

"Normally, I would agree James, but this was a true prophecy. I checked afterwards, and it was logged with the Department of Mysteries."

James was still chuckling, but Lily's face slowly sobered. With the headmaster so grave, whatever the prophecy said could not be good.

"What did it say? The prophecy, I mean." Her voice trembled.

Dumbledore related the contents to the couple, and by the end of it they were clasping hands and looking terrified. "I am so sorry, James, Lily. If there is one comfort to be drawn from this, it is that Voldemort has no idea that it exists."

"No," James said, shaking his head. "No! Potter firstborns are boys. They are _always_ boys. I don't believe this; I can't."

"James, I know this is difficult, but Lily must be carrying a girl. There is no one else who has thrice defied him and carries a child. The two of you would not even have fit the contents of the prophecy before the skirmish outside Mould-on-the-Wold last month."

Lily began to cry quietly.

"No," James denied again. "Maybe Alice is pregnant and doesn't know it. Or maybe Emmeline is about to give birth to Caradoc's love child. Or hell, maybe McGonagall is about to elope with Elphinstone Bloody Urquart and is going to have a kid next Christmas! I don't care who it is, but it isn't Lily!"

"We'll keep her safe James, and the child. The Order will keep all of you safe. As long as Voldemort doesn't know about it, there is nothing yet to fear. Your daughter won't be a full grown witch for some years to come."

"I don't have a bloody daughter!" James yelled. "It's a boy! Potters have boys! You're wrong, you're so wrong! You have to be wrong. Come on, Lily."

He grabbed his wife's hand and pulled her from the room and out of the pub. The moment they were on the street, he immediately apparated the pair of them back to their townhouse in London. Once they arrived in the entry hall, Lily fell to her knees in tears.

James joined her on the ground and pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "It isn't true, Lils. I swear it. We'll be okay. It'll be a boy, you'll see."

When James and Lily sought comfort in each other that night, they both cried the entire time.

* * *

The house was silent as a tomb when three young men arrived there three days later. All of them were decked out in wizard clothing with the tallest and the shortest ones wearing yellow and black scarves wrapped around their necks. The shortest one of them also carried a small pennant. The other, a handsome man with black hair and grey eyes, wore a navy blue and silver scarf.

"Prongs, you git! Where are you? It's time to go!" Sirius called out, his voice echoing in the townhouse.

"I'll check upstairs," Remus said, jogging up the steps two at a time.

"James!" Sirius called out again.

"Maybe he forgot," Peter suggested.

"Forgot the Wimbourne and Puddlemere match? Not bloody likely," Sirius said to his friend.

A minute later, Remus came down the stairs at a fast clip. "There's no one on the first or second floor," he said. "Have you checked down here?"

"He's just been shouting a lot," Peter said.

Sirius rolled his eyes, and started opening doors. Between the three of them, they searched the ground floor, checking the dining room, the sitting rooms, and finally the study. It was there that they found James, curled up in a winged back chair with a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

"James?" Sirius gasped, coming forward and taking the bottle from his friend. Remus did a diagnostic charm on the stag Animagus.

"Is he dead?" Peter asked.

"Don't be an imbecile," Sirius snapped. "He's obviously passed out. Merlin knows why."

"He's fine," Remus announced, performing a sobering charm on the sleeping Potter. Once it had a chance to take effect, James blinked bleary eyes open.

"Hey, mate," Sirius said, going down on his knees before James. "All right?"

"What day is it?" James asked, his voice husky.

"It's Saturday, Prongs," Remus said. "The Quidditch match, remember?"

"Oh," James said, before shaking his head. "I can't go. I have to wait for Lily. She's coming home from Cokeworth today."

"What was she doing there?" Peter asked.

"Visiting her parents," James mumbled. "She wanted to see them. Don't bloody well blame her."

"James," Sirius said, looking at his friend with an alert calmness. "What's going on?"

To the surprise of all of them, James began to cry. All three men were startled. The last time James had cried was at his mother's funeral. Sirius quickly wrapped him in a hug, knowing that his friend needed one desperately. The dog Animagus looked towards Remus to see if he knew what to do, but the werewolf just shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

"Is it Lily?" Remus asked softly. "Did you two have a fight?"

"What? No, no, don't be silly," James said, his tears slowing. He pulled away from Sirius once he realized that he was clutching at the other man, and sighed. "No, it's not Lily. It's…it's the baby."

"Oh God, Prongs," Sirius began.

James waved him off. "The baby is healthy. No, it's just…Dumbledore thinks it's a girl, and that there is a prophecy about her."

"What do you mean a prophecy?" Peter asked, looking confused.

Remus glared at him, and then turned back to James. "Go on, James."

"There's…you see…if it is a girl, then the prophecy says that she is the one to defeat Voldemort."

The other three men gasped in unison, though Peter squeaked in fear at the name, as well as what James said.

"I can't believe it," Remus said.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked. "Does it call her by name?"

James shook his head dumbly. "It goes '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born on the shortest day of the year_.' There's more after that bit about how it all happens, but that's pretty much the gist of how it could be our baby. It could be any baby girl due on the Winter Solstice, were it not for the fact that no one else has thrice defied him. Besides me and Lily, that is."

"James…" Sirius managed to say, reaching out and squeezing his friend's shoulder.

"Does Voldemort know?" Remus asked quietly, ignoring Peter's gasp.

"Not yet," James said. "As long as he doesn't know, we're all right." He took a shuddering breath. "But I can tell you one thing, mates. I have never been a man who hasn't wanted a daughter, but now I want a son so bad that I can barely think about anything else. A son would be safe."

The other three men nodded commiseratively.

* * *

"Push, Lily!" Andromeda Tonks said from her crouching position between the younger witch's legs. "I can see the head!"

"Not today, not today," Lily was muttering, tossing her head back and forth.

"James," Andromeda said, looking at the man who was holding tight to his wife's hand. "Do something. She has to push, or the baby will go into distress."

The brunet nodded and looked at his wife. Reaching out with his free hand, he cupped her face and practically growled, "Lily Heather Potter, you need to push."

Her green eyes met his and tears ran from her eyes, mingling with the sweat falling from her brow. "It can't be today, James. Not today."

"It is today, Lils," James said. "Nothing we can do about that now. I need you to push. Our child—our son—needs you to push."

"Our son," Lily repeated. A determined look came over her face, and she nodded. "Right."

Another contraction started and Andromeda called, "Now, Lily."

With five more great, heaving pushes, Lily brought her child into the world with a scream. The sound of a baby crying filled the room, and James saw Andromeda wrap a white cloth around the blood-covered infant. She severed the umbilical cord with her wand, cleaned the baby, and brought the small bundle around the side of the bed and presented it to Lily.

"What is it?" the new mother asked, reaching out her hand tentatively.

"It's a girl," was the reply Andromeda gave her.

Both James and Lily began to cry.

* * *

Later, after Andromeda had gone and James and Lily had gotten control over themselves, they stared in awe down at their new daughter. Gone was the fear and the destiny hanging over her head, and gone was the worry of things to come. The pair of them simply stared at their new baby and marveled at her beauty.

The infant was a wonder to look at. Atop her downy head was an already curly thatch of dark-red hair, which framed a cherubic face. A tiny little nose with a rosebud mouth, and bright, pink cheeks topped by wide hazel eyes stared up at them. James had never seen a baby born with hazel eyes; he thought they were always blue, though his mother had once told him that he was the same. But these, his daughter's eyes, were the same deep green-brown hazel as his own. Surrounding the pupil and extending outward they were amber with striations of grey, but near the iris they faded into a gold-tinged green. He felt proud and awed to know that his daughter would have those eyes for the rest of her life.

Outside the little room, winter had arrived in London. Tiny flurries were floating down and covering the streets with snow. The traffic blared and the sound of people drifted up though the windowpanes, but neither James nor Lily heard it. Their focus was completely on their perfect creation.

"Urgh," Lily said ten minutes later, downing a potion in one go. "I know Andromeda said it would help with nursing and healing, but humans are simply not meant to eat placenta. So disgusting."

James laughed. "Well, it's over and done and you won't have to do it again until the next baby."

"The next baby?" Lily repeated, raising one eyebrow. "James, I am still bleeding out of a very uncomfortable place right now. The talk of more babies can wait, don't you think?"

He held up his hands in surrender. Lily pulled down her nightgown and settled the baby at her breast. Because she looked a little embarrassed to have him watching her, James stood from his seat and walked to the window. Looking down, he smiled at the sight of the first snow of the year.

"Well," he said, turning back. "What shall we call her? Harry seems a bit cruel, don't you think?" Neither of them had dared to mention girl's names before now. They hadn't wanted to face the idea that it might be a possibility they had to consider.

Lily chuckled, careful not to dislodge the baby. "Just a touch. Are there Potter traditions about girls? My family always named their daughters for flowers. Petunia you know, of course, and my mother was Bryony and my maternal grandmother was Daisy. I think there was a Marigold in there somewhere too, but I'm not quite sure."

"There is the same Potter tradition for girls and boys," James said. "The boys are always named for Kings, variations and nicknames included, and the girls for Queens. Let's see, there was an Emma, an Eleanor, a Margaret, an Isabella, and a Livia. But I like your tradition better. Let's name her for a flower. We could call her Rose for her red hair."

His wife wrinkled her nose. "That reminds me of Rose Brown. Do you remember her? She was three years ahead of us in Gryffindor and just the worst."

"Yes," James said, snapping his fingers. "Was she the one with the enormous—"

Lily gave him a pointed look.

"Ego?" James finished lamely. He coughed, and then suggested the first flower that popped into his head. "How about Rhododendron?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "We could call her Amaryllis?" she suggested.

"Do you hate our daughter?" James asked teasingly. "What about Dahlia?"

She made a so-so motion with her hand. "Magnolia?"

He pulled a face. "What about calling her Heather after you?"

Lily grimaced. "I've always hated my middle name. There's always Pansy."

It was James's turn to grimace. "The Parkinsons named their daughter that a month ago—it was in the Prophet—and if it's all the same to you, I don't want our daughter to have the same name as a blood purist's kid."

"Peony?"

"That's not terrible," James admitted. "Posy?"

"No," Lily said decisively. "There is a horrible Muggle children's rhyme associated with Posies. I've always hated it." She shifted slightly. "Iris?"

James sighed. "This is impossible. We might as well name her Asphodel, 'cause we couldn't think of anything better, and be done with it."

Lily laughed at the idea of naming her daughter with a variation of her own name. No, her daughter wasn't just another version of her, despite the early impression that the baby would grow up to look a lot like her. She needed to be her own person, and that required a name that would define her. Lily was still shifting through all the flower names she knew in her head when she heard singing outside of the window.

It was carol singers, two houses over. They were just finishing up the last strains of "Silent Night" when they shifted into singing "The Holly and the Ivy." The melodic strains drifted through the Potter's closed window, and Lily began to chuckle at the lines about the running deer and the lily flower. It seemed some things were to be decided for them.

She smiled, looking down at her perfect daughter, born so near to Christmas. Bright hazel eyes gazed back as the baby nursed. Stroking her daughter's cheek, Lily looked up at James and said decisively, "Holly. We'll name her Holly. Holly Ivy Potter."

James looked confused. "I thought we were going to name her after a flower?"

"Honestly, James," Lily replied with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Didn't you pay attention at Hogwarts at all? Holly has flowers, little white ones."

"I know that," James said pointedly, rolling his eyes. "Considering my O in Herbology, I think I paid attention. What I _meant_ was I thought you wanted to name her for a flower, flower. Like Hyacinth or Heliotrope, or, getting away from the H's, even Daffodil or Violet." He looked doubtful. "If you're so attached to Holly, what about Hollyhock?"

"No," Lily said, shaking her head. "Just Holly is perfect. It's a protective force against evil in Muggle traditions."

The specter hanging over their daughter's head went unmentioned.

James settled down on the bed and smiled at his wife. "In our world too. There is also, of course, the story about the Holly Queen, which fits in nicely with Potter traditions as well."

"What story?" Lily asked.

"Well," James said grandly, reclining back on one elbow. "It goes like this. There once was a beautiful witch Queen who ruled over a great kingdom. One day, a neighboring wizard King saw a portrait of her, and fell in love with her, sight unseen. So he sent the Queen a proposal of marriage. Once she accepted, the King came to her lands with his army. He loved her very much, and they were happy for a time, but soon his own greed and need to rule overtook him. On the day after the Winter Solstice, the King seized control of her people, and took her throne."

The baby had stopped nursing, and her eyes were now turned in her father's direction, despite not being able to see him yet. His voice was rhythmic and soothing, and it calmed the baby, just as her mother's did.

James continued, "But though she played the part of a good Queen, she was cunning, and the witch Queen bided her time and built up her troops. On the day after the Summer Solstice, the Queen overthrew her husband and took back her kingdom. That should have been the end of it, but the King would not warrant defeat. He claimed back the throne after the Winter Solstice once more. This continued on for many years, one would conquer the other and reign for half the year. But Magic was watching and grew sad. The King and Queen were meant to be the perfect compliment to each other, but all they were causing was heartache and despair. Too many magical beings had been lost in their bloody conflicts, so Magic turned them all into trees, creating the first forest. The King was turned into an Oak and ruled the forest from the day after the Winter Solstice until the Summer Solstice. The Queen was made into a Holly tree and ruled from the day after the Summer Solstice to the Winter Solstice. And though the King and the Queen still loved each other, even as trees, they could never surrender to each other, even for love. So for the rest of time, their rule was divided, even if their hearts never were. The End."

"I've heard that too," Lily said, sighing. "But in the Muggle story, it is a Holly _King_, not a Queen, and there is no romance."

He shook his head. "The Oak is male, the Holly female. The perfect compliment to each other; made for each other in fact, but also the perfect opposite. Both are needed to complete the year, but they can never be joined together without war. That's where that wand rhyme comes from."

"What rhyme?" Lily asked.

"You know," James said. "It's sort of a superstition about wands."

"Muggle-born, remember? We have our own superstitions," Lily reminded him.

"Sorry, I forgot that you wouldn't know it," James said. "It goes, '_When his wand's oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly_.' It's all because of the story of the Holly Queen and the Oak King. I don't know if there is any truth to it, but it's just become one of those things that people say whenever they have a daughter matched to a holly wand. It's due to the myth and also to Merlin and Morgana."

"He was rumored to have an oak wand," Lily remembered, thinking of reading that in _A History of Magic_.

"Yeah, and supposedly Morgana's was holly," James said. "Legend says they were both enemies and lovers until the day she died, but they could never find peace together."

"That's sad," Lily said softly.

James grinned at his wife's tender heart, and leaned in and kissed her sweetly. "Don't worry, sweetling. Our Holly probably won't run into many boys at Hogwarts named Oak."

"Oh, you," Lily said, swatting him on his shoulder. Her eyes then sought his and she smiled. "So you approve the name?"

"What other name could we give her?" James asked, beaming back at his beautiful wife. Reaching over, he plucked his newborn daughter from Lily's arms and cradled her close to his chest. "Holly Ivy Potter, welcome to the world."

* * *

"Merlin, James—she's beautiful."

James looked at his best friend and gave him a smug grin. "I know."

"Thank goodness she didn't get your ugly mug, Prongs," Remus said, clapping him on the back.

The new father just shook his head with amusement, glancing between his two friends. "Yeah, but she got my eyes. Lily's feeling very smug because the rest of it is all her."

Sirius laughed and gazed down into the basinet. Holly was kicking and smiling up at him, though James swore it was gas. The newest addition to the Potter family had been marveled at and adored by every person who had stopped by the house, including all the members of the Order. Her likeness to Lily was something that came up frequently.

The entirety of the Order considered themselves something of sentinels for the new baby. Peter, in his stupidity, had blurted out the part of the prophecy that he knew at the previous meeting, so now the whole Order knew about it, including the first three lines. Lily had been furious, and James annoyed, but Peter had been so apologetic that they had forgiven him after a while. As James had told his wife, it wasn't like there was anyone in the Order that they couldn't trust.

"So who'd you choose as Godmother?" Sirius asked James, pulling the elder Potter from his thoughts.

"Marlene," James replied, offering his finger to his daughter, who happily clasped it.

"And Padfoot for Godfather?" Remus guessed.

James and Sirius looked up at him in confusion.

"No," Sirius said. "For a daughter, there is only a Godmother. For a boy, only a Godfather. Pure-blood tradition."

"Lily thinks it's barmy," James told them, "but Marlene walked her through the whole thing after we asked her, and my wife understands now. Though Lily is Church of England, she hasn't any godparents at all."

Remus nodded, comprehending. Though he had been raised by two magical parents, his father a half-blood and his mother a Muggle-born, due to his affliction they had closer ties to the Muggle world than the Wizarding one.

"Oh, by the by, Padfoot," James said, looking at Sirius. "Your cousin was the one who delivered her."

"What? Dromeda?" Sirius asked in surprise. "I haven't seen her since I was at Hogwarts. How was she?"

"She's well," James said, shaking the finger that Holly held back and forth. "She was Lily's healer at St. Mungo's for the check-ups, and they got along like a cauldron bubbling over. Andromeda volunteered to supervise the home birth rather than directing Lily to a midwife, and she has done the checks and immunizations as well. She was here this morning."

"Was that her leaving when I came in?" Remus asked. "With the green-haired little girl?"

"Yeah," Potter nodded. "Her daughter Dora wanted to see the baby."

Sirius grinned. "I'd heard that Dromeda had given birth to a Metamorphmagus, but I've never seen her. I bet she's as bossy as her mum." He smiled, shaking his head, and then looked back down at the newborn. Suddenly, he sobered, looked at James, and said, "Prongs, Holly's a girl, that means—"

"I know." James cut him off, swallowing. "But there is nothing we can do about it now. It is what it is. As long as Voldemort doesn't know, we're all right. She's safe in anonymity."

* * *

"Don't kill me!" the small man said, falling to his knees before Lord Voldemort and the four assembled Death Eaters. The Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy jeered at his predicament.

"Why, Young Pettigrew, you have guessed my intention," the Dark Lord said, causing his servants to laugh. The snake-like man slithered forward, stepping from an iron throne, holding his wand loosely in his grasp. The large hall the six of them were in was glowing with torchlight, and Voldemort's face looked even more terrifying with shadows playing about it.

Peter shivered on the floor. To the amusement of the Death Eaters, the scent of urine was soon filling the air. He quivered like a frightened rabbit, glancing to and fro in an agitated fashion, as if searching for an exit.

"Perhaps," the Dark Lord hissed, still moving ever closer. "It might be better to send you back to Dumbledore as a message. Removing your eyes and tongue will certainly tell him how I feel about spying, but I rather think you will miss the full affect if I do it after you are dead. Vivisection it is."

The rat-like man trembled. "No, please. I can tell you things…about the Order. Things you don't know…I can help you!"

Voldemort made a tsking sound with his tongue. "Ready to turn traitor all ready? How disappointing."

"Please! I'll serve you," Peter cried desperately. He reached out and kissed Voldemort's robes.

The Dark Lord jerked away from the small man and sneered. "I'd rather not have your Muggle-loving filth on my robes. _Crucio_!"

Peter screamed and the Death Eaters laughed.

"Not Muggle loving, never Muggle loving," Peter said shrilly when he could speak again. "They forced me to join! Black and Potter! I didn't want to; I couldn't care less about Muggles and Mudbloods. Please."

"A spy within the Order of the Phoenix." Voldemort laughed, and all the Death Eaters laughed with him. "I must admit, the thought does please me greatly." Peter looked as though he might relax, but the Dark Lord's next words stopped him. "But I was so looking forward to hurting you. Perhaps, killing you might be a better message."

"No!" Peter squealed.

"_Crucio!_" the Dark Lord intoned.

The Animagus's screamed in pain, and even after the curse was lifted he was still grunting. "Please, my lord. I'll serve only you."

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort said again.

Peter yelled, and then cried out, "There was a prophecy! About your defeat! Potter's girl will be the one. James told me. They trust me. I'm valuable to them. Please!"

The Dark Lord's red eyes darkened with interest as he settled onto his throne. "Tell me everything."

* * *

"Don't kill me!"

"That was not my intention." As the wind whispered through the nearly bare branches of the trees below the hill, Albus Dumbledore looked down at the man kneeling before him with contempt. "Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

"No, no message. I'm here on my own account!" the desperate Death Eater said, jerking his hands through his hair in an agitated fashion. "I—I come with a warning—no, a request, please!"

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and suddenly there was silence on the hilltop. "What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The prophecy, the prediction, he knows about it!" Snape gasped out.

Dumbledore's face gave nothing away, but inside he was a riot of emotions. The day he had feared had come to pass. "I do not know what you mean," he dissembled.

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born on the shortest day of the year.'" Snape recited. "He knows it; there is a spy in your Order! The Dark Lord thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a baby girl born on the Winter Solstice."

"You know what I mean," Snape gasped out. "He thinks it means her daughter, he is going to hunt her down—kill them all—"

"If she means so much to you," Dumbledore commented, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? He must be very impressed with you after your showing at the battle in Lower Flagley. Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the daughter?"

"I have—I have asked him—"

"You disgust me," Dumbledore said, his voice filled with loathing. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Snape said nothing. It was clear what his answer was. Finally, he gasped out hoarsely, "Hide them all, then. Keep her—them—safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

"In—in return?" His black eyes filled with determination, tinged with desperation. After a long moment, he said, "Anything."

* * *

James and Lily stood outside the small Godric's Hollow cottage, the almost one-year-old Holly clasped firmly in Lily's arms, while James held the cage with their spitting cat Artemis inside. They looked up at the sweet façade of the small house, taking in the honeysuckle vines and the creeping ivy. Though it was nearing winter, and there was not much greenery to be seen, the promise of what the house looked like was visible.

"It's not much," James said.

"It will do," Lily replied. "Once this is all over, we can go back to London and our life there."

James sighed. He wished in that moment, more than ever, that Lone Hill Hall had not burnt to the ground when he was eighteen. The Potter scion had always intended to rebuild, to repair what the Death Eaters had wrought (it struck him as ironic that they had burned down his home in revenge for him declining the offer to join them, whereas if they hadn't, he and Lily would have a safe place to flee besides this little cottage), but there never seemed to be time. With his parents gone, there was no one to supervise the rebuilding, what with him working full time for the war effort. So he had retreated to the Kensington townhouse, and Lily had joined him there once they were married.

"I can't believe you just had this cottage sitting empty," Lily said.

"It belonged to a cousin of mine, on the distaff side. Casperian Abbot was a bit of a shut-in, and refused to live anywhere but Godric's Hollow," James told her. "When he died without children, he left it to my mother. Normally it's rented, but after the last tenant left, I never got around to it."

Lily nodded. "Well, we'll make the best of it. At least there is a garden and lots of country for Holly to play in."

Their daughter smiled up at her mother at the sound of her name. "Me!" she declared, nodding her head and causing her red curls to dance.

"Yes, darling," Lily said, kissing the top of her silky head. "That's you."

"We'll be all right here, Lils," James said to her earnestly. "He won't find us here. We'll be safe."

"Safe," Lily repeated. "Yes, everything will be fine."


	2. Chapter One

_The ghosts of all things, past parade,  
Emerging from the mist and shade  
That hid them from our gaze,  
And full of song and ringing mirth,  
In one glad moment of rebirth,  
Again they walk the ways of earth,  
As in the ancient days._

_The beason light shines on the hill,  
The will-o'-wisps the forests fill  
With flashes filched from noon;  
And witches on their broomsticks spry  
Speed here and yonder in the sky,  
And lift their strident voices high  
Unto the Hunter's moon._

_—Jack Kendrick Bangs, "Hallowe'en"_

* * *

Chapter One

The clock had just struck nine o'clock when Minerva McGonagall looked up from the papers she was grading with a shiver. Something had just happened, she could feel it. Ambient magic was normally undetectable, even to a gifted witch like her, but on Halloween, all things were heightened. With the doorway to the spirit world cracked open, things that normally couldn't happen, did. And magic that was forgotten by the passage of time was made possible again.

Still, the stern witch wouldn't have thought much of it, were it not for the fact that she happened to glance out the window of her office two hours later. There, on the lawn, was Hagrid moving as quickly as he could towards the castle doors. She hadn't seen him since the subdued feast earlier that night, and there had certainly not been anything like the panic that was on now his face then. While the man was emotive by nature, he had become more and more stoic as the death count continued to rise over the past few months. So many lost; Fabian Prewett and his brother, Marlene McKinnon, Edgar Bones and his entire family...it beggared belief that so many old pure-blood families were now gone, and yet there were still others who supported You-Know-Who, and didn't see he was trying to destroy everything about the Wizarding world that they held dear.

McGonagall rose from her desk. If there was yet more bad news, she wanted to hear it now, rather than put it off for later. She didn't teach any classes the following day, so now was as good a time as any to hear it. Perhaps it would even allow her to mourn, if mourning was required, without affecting her teaching schedule. The cat Animagus sighed to herself when she realized her own train of thought. She was becoming hard, as they all were, but also helpless to stop it. Sometimes she wondered if a heart couldn't turn to stone.

Minerva waited, and then measured her steps carefully, and just made it to the Entrance Hall when the gamekeeper was coming down the stairs. "Hagrid," she called.

"Professor McGonagall," he nodded. "No time ter talk. Important business for Professor Dumbledore. I'm ter go ter Godric's Hollow, and then ter Privet Drive in Little Whinging."

"Good heavens, why?"

The gentle giant looked a little tentative. "That's private business. Alls I can tell yer is that I' ter meet the Professor there tomorrow at midnight."

"I don't understand," the sober Scotswoman said, trying desperately to find her patience. "Why would you meet the Headmaster in Surrey tomorrow night? Little Whinging is in Surrey, is it not? Is this Order business?" She then realized that he had already given her a clue, _Godric's Hollow_. She was perhaps one of the few that knew James and Lily Potter were hiding there, and that was only because Lily had written to her when Marlene McKinnon died. She had quietly visited the Potters there once. "Why are you going to Godric's Hollow?"

"Not Order business," Hagrid said, shaking his large bearded head. "I'm ter pick up Holly Potter from Godric's Hollow."

"Holly Potter?" Minerva gasped. "Why would you need to pick her up, Hagrid? What has happened to the Potters?" The pit in her stomach was ripening to the size of an orange. Something terrible had happened, she could feel it.

The gamekeeper hung his head. "Them instruments in the Headmaster's office went off, and Bathilda Bagshot floo-called him. It's the Potters, it is. They've been done in."

Her hand flew to her mouth without thought or conscious action. McGonagall couldn't believe it. Not Lily and James. Of course, she knew about the prophecy, all the Order did, but she hadn't wanted to believe that they would die. That poor little girl and her unfortunate parents. Her heart broke at the thought of Holly, dear sweet Holly, dead. Then, just as that thought occurred to her, she realized something else. Why would Hagrid take a dead body from the West Country all the way to Surrey?

"Hagrid," she said tentatively. "Why are you being sent to collect Holly's body?"

"Blimey, Professor, no! Holly's still alive, she is."

The Transfiguration Professor suddenly understood, and then tears filled her eyes. It was not a dead baby he was being sent to collect, but an orphan. Nodding her head in a decisive manner, she said, "Then let us go, Hagrid. Holly is waiting."

"Er, Professor, I'm not supposed to—"

"Nonsense," she said, drawing herself up. "Who knows what Death Eaters are still there waiting to ambush the unsuspecting? I shall accompany you."

The two of them arrived in the small Somerset village by Dumbledore's portkey, and hurried quickly down the pokey streets. Hagrid could not do anything quietly, but the secrecy of their mission was aided by teenagers running loose, making noise in the street, and small fireworks that were being set off in anticipation of Bonfire Night. Leaves crunched underfoot, and blew along the pavements due to a slight breeze that gave a chill to the night.

At the end of the village, they saw a small, diminutive hooded figure huddling against the gate of her house. When she looked up and spotted them, she gave a small sob.

Though Minerva had only met the woman a handful of times, she knew her face well enough. "Madam Bagshot?"

The little old woman did not speak. She only cried, continuing to weep, and pointed.

Her finger extended to the end of the street, towards where the cottages stopped and open country began again. There, at the end of the lane, flanked by a house on either side, was their destination. But, even if Minerva hadn't been there before, she still would have been able to find it.

Behind the well-manicured hedge, the cottage was in ruins. Though the basic frame was still standing, the right side of the top floor had been blown apart. Rubble and roofing had fallen from the house, and now lay out on the lawn. The ivy, which had once been climbing merrily on the outer walls, lay limp; like ship lines that had been ripped away from their moorings.

The professor didn't see how anyone could have survived, let alone a baby. Still, there was something odd about the whole thing. It took her a moment, but then she said in awe, "There's no Dark Mark."

"Maybe he forgot," Hagrid suggested, though he sounded suspiciously guilty, as if he was hiding something.

Minerva shot him a sharp look, and then turned back to the wreck. "Perhaps," she allowed.

The pair moved forward and stepped carefully over the fallen debris. Gingerly, they moved inside the house and over the broken door frame. There, lying in the hallway was James Potter. He had fallen in an awkward position, with one of his arms pinned underneath him. He looked vaguely upward, as if he could see something on the ceiling that they could not. Though she knew him to be dead, Minerva crouched down by his body and performed a diagnostic charm.

She sighed when she got to her feet again, and tried to blink back the tears that were falling with no regard to her wishes in rivulets down her face. Hagrid let out a mournful howl, and the two of them side-stepped the Potter male and headed up the stairs. They turned right at the top of the staircase and entered the small room that no longer had a ceiling. Bricks and beams were all over the place, covering the occupant left behind. Lily Potter had one such beam draped across her torso. Her eyes too were vacant and staring upwards.

In the corner of the room, a pair of robes lay on the floor, and beyond them was a crib that had been turned on its side with the mattress and bedding spilling out. Minerva didn't see Holly anywhere, but she knew that Dumbledore must have had charms monitoring the residence for signs of life. She had to be here somewhere.

"Holly?" she called softly.

A gentle sniff met her in reply. As Hagrid was behind her, Minerva knew it hadn't come from him. She moved forward into the room and levitated things out of the way. And then, behind the fallen rocking chair opposite the crib, she found Holly Potter curled up into a little ball, hugging her legs. The toddler had to have gotten out of her crib and walked over to the chair to hide behind, because it was too far for her to have fallen.

Crouching down, Minerva looked at the little girl with a sympathetic expression. "Holly?" she called. "Little lass? Can you hear me?"

Slowly, a little red-haired and curly head looked up, and hazel eyes filled with tears as she saw the Transfiguration Professor. "Shh," Holly said, holding up one little finger to her lips. "Mummy's sleeping."

A sob burst out of McGonagall's chest, and she held out her arms to the little girl, who allowed herself to be picked up. The older witch cuddled the girl close. When Holly saw Hagrid in the doorway, she tucked her face under Minerva's chin so that she couldn't see him. It was just as well, for the Professor didn't want the little girl to see Lily lying dead again.

McGonagall covered Holly with her cloak. She didn't register the roar of an engine from outside; she was too focused on her charge. Minerva left the room immediately, brushing past Hagrid who stood awkwardly in the hallway. Really, she was feeling more and more annoyed with Dumbledore by the minute. The wee one had been in the same room with her mother's corpse for hours! How could the Headmaster have made such a terrible mistake? She was a toddler, not a baby. It was entirely possible that she could have gotten up and walked away, rather than hiding.

Making her way downstairs, Minerva found the way blocked by a familiar face. On the floor, with James Potter cradled in his arms, was Sirius Black.

The man had completely given into his grief. His shoulders were shaking with sobs, and his tears were falling from his chin to run down the cheeks of James Potter. McGonagall felt the deepest of pity stir in her heart. She had known how close James and Sirius were, as close as brothers, and she had always thought of them as something of a duo. For one to live and the other to die—it seemed wrong somehow.

"Sirius," she said softly.

Holly chose that moment to peak her head out from under the Transfiguration Professor's cloak. "Paddy!" she called, sounding both distressed and happy.

The young man gasped. Gently easing James's head to the floor, he stepped around the body and immediately plucked Holly from McGonagall's arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to the toddler's forehead, and reverently said, "You're all right. You're all right now."

The little girl tugged on the sleeve of Sirius's robes, as if she had an urgent message to impart. "Mummy went night-night."

He looked at Holly in surprise, his grey eyes full of concern. "Mummy...?"

"Bad man," Holly said, nodding her head and making her red curls dance. "He made Mummy sleep. He go boom."

Minerva gasped. "The robes," she murmured to herself.

"Lily?" Sirius asked, looking to McGonagall.

She nodded, and he let out another soft sob.

Holly tugged on his robes again, pulling Sirius's attention back to her. "I gots owie."

"Are you hurt, princess?" Sirius asked, looking concerned. "Where?"

Holly pulled down the neck of her purple sleeper with little difficulty and showed Sirius the skin just under her collarbone, over her heart. There, in the shape of a lightning bolt, was a freshly made cut. "See?" she said, almost proudly. "See? Owie."

The Black scion immediately pulled out his wand and cast all the healing charms that he knew over the cut. McGonagall watched in fascination as none of them made the cut heal. Stop bleeding, yes, but heal, no.

"Dark magic," he finally said, with disgust lacing every word. "The cut must have been made by it. There is no other explanation."

"Maybe Dumbledore can do something," McGonagall suggested.

Hagrid chose that moment to come down the stairs with Lily's body in his arms. Sirius, unfortunately, was not quick enough to shield Holly's eyes.

"Mummy! Wake up! Wake up now!" Holly called. Her lip trembled as she watched the giant bring her mother forward, stepping past them to put Lily down in the sitting room. Holly's eyes followed his progression, and she saw her father then. She looked at Sirius, her eyes sad and looking so much older than her age, and asked, "Is Daddy sleepy too?"

A hoarse sob freed itself from Sirius's chest and he nodded. "Yes, princess. Daddy's sleeping too."

Minerva couldn't take it anymore. She excused herself from the hallway, knowing Holly would be safe with Sirius, and returned up the stairs to the wrecked little room. Her eyes fell once more on the black robes on the floor, but she turned her gaze away.

With a few flicks of her wand, she had an empty trunk from the cupboard open and began filling it with the things from the room that survived. Surprisingly, most of the clothes in the bureau were intact and undamaged. Lily had obviously been dressing her daughter in mostly Muggle clothing, the only nod to her witch heritage been the frequent usage of the colors of green and purple. Minerva added the small collection of robes too, and quickly filled the trunk with shoes and sleepwear as well. Of the toys, only two were undamaged. One was a plush teddy bear, and the other was a china doll that would have better suited a girl of ten, rather than a toddler of one and ten months. Still, both of those went into the trunk along with a music box, that when opened, played "The Holly and the Ivy." A quick stop in the bathroom for Holly's toiletries, and Minerva then went into the elder Potters' room.

There, she opened up another trunk, one engraved with the initials _JEP_, and began to fill it with James and Lily's clothes. She saw Lily's wand on her bedside, and put that in too. After collecting Lily's battered guitar case, Minerva put her jewelry box inside the trunk as well, along with the small chest that she knew housed the Potter family jewels and heirlooms. Thankfully, nothing else remained, and it was clear that Lily had left most of their valuable things in the Family Vault, or in their London home, rather than bring them to Godric's Hollow. There weren't even any moving paintings on the walls, but there were two Muggle ones that she was able to take for Holly. McGonagall added two photo albums to the top of the trunk and then closed it, before levitating both pieces of luggage down the stairs.

When she reached the bottom, she followed the voices and stepped into the middle of a disagreement.

"No," Hagrid was saying. "I've me orders from Dumbledore direct. Holly's ter go ter her aunt an' uncle's."

"That's nonsense!" Sirius snapped back. "Lily and her sister didn't get on at all. There is no way that she would want her only child to go there. I can take her."

Holly seemed little disturbed by their disagreement. She had her head tucked under Sirius's chin, and seemed uninterested in the going ons around her. Minerva was certain that the excitement of the night was now hitting the little girl, and she was soon to fall asleep. She did notice however that Holly's eyes kept flicking towards the sitting room, though the door was closed and she couldn't see her parents' bodies anymore.

"Enough," Minerva said, silencing the men, who turned to her in surprise. "Sirius, we both know that Lily and James didn't name a new godmother after Marlene's death. Are you trying to say that they did, and simply did not inform me?"

He sighed. "No, no they didn't."

"Then I am afraid that we have no choice but to take Miss Potter to her Aunt's for now."

"I could take her," Sirius said stubbornly.

"You have no legal claim to the girl," McGonagall said, "and furthermore, you are a bachelor. The Wizengamot would not grant you custody, and you know it. Once everything has settled in a few days, we can all sit down with Albus and discuss Holly's future."

Sirius looked at the Transfiguration Mistress in confusion. "What do you mean, once everything has settled down? What's going on?"

Minerva sighed. "I suspect, and this is just a guess, that You-Know-Who has met his end."

"What?" Sirius gasped, looking shocked. His eyes went wide, and he looked as though he had been clubbed over the head.

"'Tis true," Hagrid admitted. "Professor Dumbledore told me so himself."

Minerva looked at him in an annoyed fashion. "How could you not tell me? And how could he have known without coming here?"

Hagrid gave a great shrug. "Dunno. But he's been up to something, 'cause he had just arrived back in his office when I came up ter see him when he summoned me. He was deeply affected about their deaths too, see, 'cause he was speaking to himself about traitors and broken charms."

Sirius stiffened in an almost imperceptible way, and Minerva would have missed it had she not turned her head to look at the young man. There was tenseness to his posture now, and he looked suddenly alert. His eyes were narrowed, and a muscle was trembling in his clenched jaw. Though she had fought beside him many times in the past five years, Minerva had never seen him quite so violent looking. But then, just as she noticed it, the look faded away when his eyes fell on Holly.

"Princess," he said softly to her. Her little red-haired head tilted up, and she regarded her father's best friend with sad eyes. "I have to go away for a little while," he told her. "You are going to go with Professor McGonagall, and she is going to take care of you."

"'Til Mummy and Daddy wake up?" she asked, as if she was merely going to be babysat until her parents returned to her.

Sirius gave her a sad smile. "Mummy and Daddy aren't going to wake up, princess. They are going to sleep forever."

Her little brow furrowed like she didn't understand, but she nodded. Then, her hazel eyes darkened and she said to Sirius, "No go, Paddy. Stay wif me."

"I have to go, little love," Sirius said, kissing her forehead. "Be a good girl."

"Good girl," she repeated.

Then, as if before he could change his mind, he handed her quickly to Minerva. She accepted the child back into her arms, and saw Hagrid pat Sirius on the shoulder out of the corner of her eye and say, "There, there."

"Are you taking her directly to Surrey?" Black asked the half-giant quietly.

"Not as such," Hagrid admitted. "Not 'til midnight tomorrow."

Sirius gave a little, bitter smile. "Go ahead and take my motorbike. I won't need it anymore. Portkeys aren't good for babies. It can take you three where ever you need to go." His grey eyes looked so haunted in that moment that McGonagall almost called out to him and asked him to come with her to help with Holly, but before she could, he turned to her and said, "Goodbye, Professor."

"Wait," she called. "Where are you going?"

"Hunting," was her reply.

And then Sirius Black ducked out the door and was swallowed by the darkness of the night.

Ten minutes later, as Hagrid carried the trunks and Minerva the toddler and a small cage with a hissing cat inside, the Transfiguration Professor heard a mournful howl go up in the distance.


	3. Chapter Two

_I have walked a great while over the snow,  
And I am not tall nor strong.  
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,  
And the way was hard and long.  
I have wandered over the fruitful earth,  
But I never came here before.  
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!_

_The cutting wind is a cruel foe.  
I dare not stand in the blast.  
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,  
And the worst of death is past.  
I am but a little maiden still,  
My little white feet are sore.  
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!_

___—_Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, _"__The Witch__"_

* * *

Chapter Two

Had she not thought to question Hagrid more closely, and had he not said the magic words of 'Godric's Hollow', Minerva might have spent the entire day waiting at Privet Drive for Albus Dumbledore to confirm the rumors of You-Know-Who's demise, as had she had classes free that day. Such was hardly necessary, though, as she was present when Holly was retrieved, and she had Hagrid take her straight back to Hogwarts.

After the half-giant dropped the toddler and the witch off—and gave Holly a whiskery kiss—he headed in the direction of Hogsmeade. Minerva, on the other hand, led her temporary charge to the Hospital Wing. It was only after extensive tests, and a thorough examination that McGonagall took the little girl to her apartments. There, she transfigured a crib for the girl, and finally crawled into her own bed.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, Holly went to sleep immediately. It was Minerva who lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. She could hardly believe that two of her best students were now dead. It seemed like only yesterday the young bride was blushingly confessing that she was pregnant, while her new husband sat there with a look of prideful awe on his face.

McGonagall had been deeply fond of them both, but it was James who had truly been her star pupil. Along with Sirius Black, he had been one of the most gifted students she had ever taught. She only had three children in all her history of teaching who had completely transfigured a match into a needle on the first day, and James and Sirius had been two of them. And even more impressive, while Sirius had achieved it by the end of the first class, James had done it on his first try.

It had been wondrous to see him work with his Mahogany wand. His movements had always been effortless, much in the way she had often seen the Headmaster use his wand. There had been no extra actions, no hard focus, simply negligent flicks that created perfect transfigurations or conjurations every time. She had looked forward to the day when the war was over and he might continue on with his education. Minerva had suggested to him that he might become an Animagus, and he had seemed rather amused by the idea.

She rolled onto her side. It was just one more life wasted by You-Know-Who, and that talent, which she thought James might have had, was now nothing but wasted potential. The cat Animagus wondered what would happen now if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was really gone. Would the war end, or would the Death Eaters carry on the fight?

Before she had time to ruminate too much further, a quiet knock could be heard on the door to her quarters. Checking her pocket watch, she saw that the hour was ten minutes after eight in the morning, though it was hard to tell from the darkness outside. Minerva crept from her bed, stopping only to pull on a tartan dressing gown, and walked to the door.

As she did, Lily's cat Artemis wound its way around Minerva's ankles. The cat had been discovered just before Hagrid and McGonagall left the crumbling ruin, along with James's wand, and she had been very glad it had. Magical cats seldom ran off if something happened to their owners. They sometimes would wait by burnt-out ruins and die wasting away, longing for their family to return. Minerva was going to make sure that the cat would have a home with Holly, no matter what.

Once she reached the door, Minerva turned the knob and pulled the door open. It swung wide when she saw the Headmaster on the other side. "Albus," she greeted quietly.

"Minerva," he returned. "I trust you're well."

She nodded sharply. "Come in."

"Thank you," he said, stepping inside.

"Is it true?" McGonagall asked him, mere seconds after he crossed the threshold. "Is he really gone? Everything I saw makes me believe it, and yet after eleven years..."

Dumbledore nodded his understanding. "He is really gone. I have informed the Ministry already. Minister Bagnold scarcely believed me."

The Transfiguration Professor sighed. "And I suppose that Hagrid has been telling anyone who will listen at the Hog's Head."

"Don't be too hard on him. We have had precious little to celebrate for some time now."

"I know that," Minerva responded with some irritation. Her eyes then looked beseechingly at the Headmaster. "I don't understand, Dumbledore. What happened? Why did You-Know-Who's powers break when he turned his wand on Holly?"

"Really, my dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort."

She shuddered.

"And, as to your question," he continued, "we may never know. I have some guesses I will be considering over the next several weeks and months to come, but guesses is all they are." He then crossed to the transfigured crib across the room and looked down at its occupant. "I had intended Hagrid to keep her until tonight."

McGonagall sighed. "Holly was slightly afraid of him, and Hagrid would have had no idea what to do with an active toddler. Really, Albus; he intended to have her with him in a pub all day before you could both go ahead with your plan about Holly's relatives."

Dumbledore nodded. His eyes then narrowed, and he said, "I hope you aren't thinking you can keep her. She must go to her Aunt's."

Minerva nodded. "I know."

And she did know. As much as she hated the situation, Wizarding law was very clear. In lieu of a Godmother, Holly had to go to her nearest blood relative, and that was Lily's sister. McGonagall knew that James had some distant Abbott cousins from his mother's side, but they were a remote connection.

"Though," the Scotswoman said tartly, "from what little Lily told me, those people aren't fit to care for kneazles, let alone children."

"Minerva, please," the Headmaster said, sounding tired. "She needs to go to Petunia Dursley's. Voldemort's supporters—many of them as mad and dangerous as he—will be out in full force looking for the child. And make no mistake, Minerva. Voldemort _will _return, and more dangerous than ever. While Holly Potter can call home the place where her mother's blood dwells, she cannot be touched by Voldemort or his supporters. It's ancient magic, based on Lily's sacrifice. And it is unbreakable."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I guessed as much. Still, were it not for the blood protection, any Wizarding family would be better."

"Surely you exaggerate; they are her own kin—"

"You don't know, Albus," she said, cutting him off. "I have gotten very close with Lily over the past few months. The poor girl has been desperate for someone female other than Bathilda to talk to about raising a daughter, now that all her friends are dead—Marlene, Mary, Dorcas," McGonagall recited bleakly. "We have owled back and forth a great deal, and she was very clear about the relationship she had with her sister. She did not get on with Petunia at all. Her sister hates magic."

He scoffed. "I highly doubt that. Petunia Evans wrote me and requested admittance to Hogwarts."

"At one point, maybe that is how she felt," Minerva said. "But that jealousy over Lily has long since turned to hate. She didn't come to Lily's wedding, and the only contact the two had with each other were gifts exchanged at Christmas."

The Headmaster looked troubled, but made no response.

Holly's future weighed heavily on her. If she had her way, Holly would never so much as spend a second of time with Petunia, but the child's safety was more important than her own wants and desires. After a long while, she sighed. Crossing the room, Minerva looked down at Holly and relaxed when she saw the little girl was still sleeping deeply.

He followed her. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder for a while, just staring down at the toddler.

"Ah," Dumbledore said after a moment. Minerva watched him pull the neck of the sleeper Holly was wearing down to stare at her scar.

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" she asked, following his gaze.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't," he said. "Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground."

She sighed. "The poor wee bairn was exhausted after her ordeal. I imagine she'll sleep most of the day. I don't have classes today, I shall stay here and watch her until it is time to deliver her to her relatives. I assume you are performing the blood protection charm today?" At his nod, she gave one of her own. "Right, then. We'll take her there at eight o'clock this evening and explain everything."

"I thought a letter might do," Dumbledore admitted.

"What, and leave her in a basket on the doorstep?" Minerva scoffed, only partly joking. "This isn't the type of news for a letter, Albus. We must tell all to Lily's sister. They need to be able to understand her."

Dumbledore sighed, but gave a nod. "It shall be as you say."

Minerva nodded, her regretful face falling on the sleeping baby once more. "The poor dear. She doesn't have anyone in the world left to care for her."

"I wouldn't say that," Dumbledore said softly, looking meaningfully at her.

Minerva met his eyes, and then gave a nod of understanding.

* * *

Holly slept until around eleven, at which time she woke full of questions. Where were Mummy and Daddy? When were they coming back? Could Moony and Paddy and Wormy come over to play? The list went on and on, but Minerva didn't mind it so much. Holly was a very sweet and loving child who was naturally curious about everything. With her cat and her teddy bear with her, Holly didn't fuss about spending time in Minerva's quarters at all.

When it was nearing eight o'clock, after the evening meal and a bath for the toddler, Minerva carried Holly from her rooms with the cat cage in one hand, and the two trunks of things she had recovered from Godric's Hollow trailing through the air behind her. Once they reached the outer corridors, where students were walking, voices and chatter began to die down as they observed Minerva McGonagall and her strange procession pass. They began whispering to each other when they recognized Holly, which surprised the Animagus as she didn't think news would have spread so quickly. She wondered just what had been going on in the Wizarding World while she had been watching Holly that day.

Once she stepped into the Entrance Hall, Minerva crossed to where Dumbledore was waiting patiently for the pair of them.

"Why hello, there," Dumbledore said to the little girl, waggling his fingers at her.

"Bumbabee!" Holly laughed, reaching out to grab his waving digits.

"Ready to go, Miss Holly?"

"Yes," Holly said, nodding her head as she stifled a yawn. Though she had no idea where they were going, she was very enthusiastic. "Let's go."

"Bumblebee?" Minerva asked, lowly, a slight smirk on her face.

"I made the mistake of telling her that was what my last name meant when I once visited Godric's Hollow," the Headmaster told her, his eyes twinkling. "She has a wonderful memory for being one so young."

When they noticed the crowds, Dumbledore and McGonagall departed the school swiftly and, once they were past the main gates, they apparated to Little Whinging. Holly fussed a bit when it was over, but quickly settled down again, resting her head against Minerva's shoulder. The toddler's eyes flickered shut, and she began to doze off.

The Animagus's first impression of the neighborhood was one of supreme confusion. Did the residents really mean to have all their homes look the same? Neat, manicured lawns and tight, tidy homes were all stacked together like little ice trays. Small cars sat in front of each house, and clipped hedges designated boundary lines. Not one of the homes had a bright color or any distinguishing quality. It seemed like a singularly depressing place to live.

McGonagall was deeply sorry she was consigning Holly to ten long years there before the wee one could rejoin the Wizarding world.

The two Professors walked up the steps of Number Four, Privet Drive (the trunks now no longer floating), and Dumbledore knocked sharply on the door.

It took a moment, but eventually the door was opened by a blonde horsy-faced looking woman who saw their clothes and sneered. "What do you want?" she snapped. She was looking behind them with a slightly panicked expression as well, as if she was afraid of someone seeing them standing there.

Minerva shot a glare at Dumbledore, and then turned to Petunia and said, "We were Lily's teachers at Hogwarts. We need to speak with you. May we come in?"

The woman looked as though she was going to protest, so Minerva simply took the decision from her hands and stepped inside. Dumbledore followed with the trunks.

"Now see here," the woman protested. "You can't just come in here—"

"Mrs. Dursley, I am afraid we have grave news about your sister," McGonagall said calmly. "May we sit down?"

Petunia paled suddenly, and then her eyes flitted over to Holly and she gasped. Nodding sharply, she led the pair of them into the living room. As they stepped inside, they could hear the newsman on the television say, "...owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise."

"Vernon," Petunia said, her voice trembling. "Turn off the telly."

"Why, pet? What's wrong?" He stopped short when he saw the two magical people who stepped into the room behind his wife. His face turned purple as he took in their clothes, especially Dumbledore's star-spangled robes. He too paled when he saw the little girl in Minerva's arms. He quickly turned the television off, and took his wife's hand as they sat down together.

Once they were all seated, Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, it is my sad duty to inform you that Lily Potter and her husband James are dead. Our society has been at war for the past eleven years, and Lily and James were members of an organization devoted to bringing down the evil wizard Lord Voldemort who was trying to take over our world. Unfortunately, their actions caught Voldemort's attention, and last night he went to their home and killed them both, and destroyed a good portion of the house as well. He is now dead though, so it must be some small comfort to know that your brother-in-law and sister died as heroes."

Vernon had no reaction, but Petunia did have the grace to look a little upset. The expression was gone momentarily though, and replaced with wary caution as she asked, "What's that got to do with us?"

Dumbledore looked nonplussed. His shock and disapproval evident, he said, "She was your sister, Mrs. Dursley. Don't you care at all?"

Petunia looked guilty, but then it was gone again and belligerence took its place. "Look here, I won't have you telling me what I should feel about my own good-for-nothing sister. She got mixed up in that magic business, so it is no wonder she got herself blown up."

The Headmaster's mouth dropped open. Dumbledore looked at the woman steadily, as if he was searching her very soul, and then his head dropped downwards. "Can you ever forgive me, Minerva? You were quite right."

McGonagall gave a small nod.

Lily had been very clear about her sisters..._limitations_, and they were now seeing them first hand. While still upset, the Transfiguration Professor knew Albus's actions had not been ones of malice. She knew that he felt very strongly about the bonds of family, and constantly regretted the actions that led to the fractured relationship he had with his brother. His sister Ariana was a constant plague on his mind and spirit, and he would give anything to go back and repair what he had done. Wrongly, he had thought that Petunia felt the same over the break with her own sister. Still, he had almost made a very grave mistake. Had he been more detached, and simply dropped Holly off with a letter as had been his plan, Holly would have had ten horrible years in this awful house. As it was, perhaps they could amend that so her years weren't quite so terrible.

"I am very sorry you feel that way," Dumbledore said to Petunia, once he had turned away from Minerva. "But the facts of the matter are quite simple. In sacrificing her life for her daughter, as your sister did, Lily invoked a very special type of magic upon her daughter. If Holly is able to call this house her home until she is seventeen, she will not only keep that protection until her seventeenth birthday, but it will also extend to you and your family. Make no mistake; Voldemort's forces are out there right now, looking for their master. They will stop at nothing to find him again. And they would think nothing of torturing two non-magical people for information."

Petunia had paled again, but Vernon snorted. "Load of old tosh. I'll admit the Potters were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them—I always knew they'd come to a sticky end."

"Vernon!" Petunia gasped.

Minerva glared at the man, and clutched Holly closer to her. She had never been more thankful that the toddler was sleeping and would not hear such cruel things about her parents.

"You know I'm right, pet," Vernon stated badly. "They asked for what they got, getting mixed up with these Wizarding types."

Petunia let out a little moue of disagreement and looked away.

"The fact remains that you are both in danger. If you refuse to take Holly," Dumbledore said, "then we are no longer responsible for you both, or for the life of your son. When you are being tortured to death, I'm sure it will be a comfort to know that you didn't get mixed up with us weirdoes. I hope you will survive, but I doubt it." He stood, as if to go, and Minerva followed suit.

"Wait," Petunia called out shrilly. "We'll be safe, then?"

Minerva smiled into Holly's red curls. Albus really was a master manipulator when he needed to be.

"Petunia!" Vernon gasped, his face growing red. "I'll not have one of them in my house! Only normal people are allowed here, and if she stays, mark my words, I'll stamp the magic out of her, that's what!"

"Minerva," Albus said, his voice cold as ice. "Take Holly and Mrs. Dursley upstairs and get a room prepared for the young one. Mr. Dursley and I are going to have a talk."


	4. Chapter Three

_Baby-witch,  
my daughter,  
my worship of the Goddess  
alone  
condemns you to the fire_

_. . ._

_I wished for you  
to be born a daughter  
though we know  
that daughters  
cannot but be_

_born for burning  
like the fatal  
tree._

— _Erica Jong, "Baby Witch"_

* * *

Chapter Three

McGonagall nodded in agreement to Dumbledore's words and, holding tighter to the toddler and the covered cage, quickly went up the stairs behind Petunia, the trunks floating silently after her. The Muggle woman led her to a small room, which was full of broken toys. They were all designed for a child of about one, and it amazed Minerva that their son had been able to destroy them, as they were generally made for indestructibility. Still, there were monkeys with arms missing, and a plushy frog without one of its eyes. A little ball meant for filling with shapes and blocks had been cracked in half, and there were several more soft and plastic toys with teeth marks on them.

"Right," she said, turning to Petunia. "Would you like me to vanish these things or move them to another part of the house?"

Petunia looked startled, and then sour, but said grudgingly, "There is room in the garage, if you please."

The Transfiguration Professor, nodded, put down the cat's cage, and swished her wand. Suddenly, the room was completely empty, and the hardwood floors were burnished and cleaned. With a few more graceful flicks, there was instantly a light mint color on the walls, pale purple curtains on the windows, and a green area rug with violet crocuses on it. Minerva hid her smile. Even if Holly couldn't be in their world, she would at least be surrounded by subconscious reminders of it, as purple and green had, since even before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, been colors witches and wizards wore to symbolize magic to a fellow magical being in the Muggle world.

McGonagall handed the sleeping toddler to Petunia, who accepted her with no small amount of distaste, and then moved her wand in a complicated pattern which ended in a stabbing motion. Suddenly, the room was full of furniture. Against one wall, under the window, a white wood crib sat with purple bedding (it would convert into a bed when Holly got big enough). On the opposite wall, a little bookcase made of the same white wood and a matching wardrobe also now sat. In the corner, a little table with two chairs, all low to the ground and perfect for a child, had taken up residence.

Now that the permanent conjurations were complete, the witch took several steadying breaths (as permanent conjuration was something few witches and wizards could manage easily), and then swished and flicked her wand so that the trunks could empty their contents into the proper places within the rooms. All of Holly's clothes went into the wardrobe, save the robes which remained in the trunk. Her doll and teddy went to the bookcase; along with several Muggle children's books which Minerva had her mother send her from Caithness earlier that day so that Holly might have them. The music box also went in the little bookcase.

The two paintings Minerva had taken from Godric's Hollow went on the walls with permanent sticking charms. One was of a large white sail boat in a harbor, and the other was of a beautiful Holly tree in the middle of a dense forest. Minerva trusted that Holly would like it once she was old enough to understand.

After she was done, Minerva sent both the trunks into the closet, stacking them one atop the other, and put locking charms and Muggle repelling charms on them. She certainly didn't want Petunia to stumble on the magical things contained within, or the very expensive jewelry inside. Once Holly had a wand of her own she would be able to unlock them.

Minerva then took a look around the room, and frowned a bit. With another flick of her wand, she had conjured a little tea set on the low table for Holly to play with, and then, it came to her. With a shake of her head at her own idiocy, she quickly went back into James's trunk and pulled out two pictures from the photo album. They were both Muggle, taken by Lily's mother before she died, and James and Lily were the only occupants of each shot. The first was of their wedding (it looked as though James was wearing a tuxedo, but Minerva knew that it had only been a charm he put on his robes so the Muggles wouldn't wonder why he was wearing a dress), and the second was of James and Lily posing in front of Sirius's motorbike, their arms wrapped around each other, dressed in jumpers and jeans, with Lily obviously pregnant.

She nodded her head. Yes, these would do well indeed. Minerva recast the charms on the trunks, and then quickly conjured frames for the pictures, and the placed one on the book shelf and the other on the wall. Once that was done, the witch cast an Impervius Charm on everything in the room, so that nothing could be damaged. She also cast unbreakable charms as well, and a gentle Muggle Repelling charm on the contents of the room at much less strength than the one she had done on the trunks. It wouldn't prevent Petunia from moving or cleaning something, but it would stop her from taking or removing anything from the room that Holly didn't want to be moved.

"You forgot a changing table for nappies," Petunia said after a long while. The Muggle woman had been watching the proceedings with a mixture of jealousy and curiosity. She had never seen such large scale magic before, and had been slightly in awe of it.

"Holly doesn't need one," Minerva replied. "She has been toilet-trained already. Lily did put a nappy on her at night though, and those are in the dresser."

Petunia's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, but she said nothing, just nodded.

Minerva then took the baby back from her and cast a discreet sticking charm on the green topaz earrings Holly was wearing, knowing they were the type that would grow with the little girl. She knew that she might be being unfair to Petunia, but rather safe than sorry was the way Minerva thought.

Leaning over, she took the covering off of Artemis's cage, and opened the little door so she could explore the room. Petunia looked rather annoyed about the cat, but she said nothing once Minerva provided it with a bed and a scratching post. It was around the time that she finished this that Holly woke up.

The little girl immediately wanted to be put down, and she toddled over to the cat and held her by the collar. Artemis didn't react other than to butt her head into Holly's stomach and purr. Turning her face upward, Holly asked Minerva sweetly, "See Mummy an' Daddy now?"

The Professor went down on her knees and stroked Holly's hair. "No, wee one. Mummy and Daddy have gone to live in heaven. This is your Aunt Petunia." She indicated the Muggle woman with her hand. "You are going to live here with her and your uncle and your cousin now."

Holly cocked her head to the side. "An' Tuney?"

A muffled gasp tore from Petunia's throat, and she stared down at the little girl with an expression of regretful fascination. Her eyes were wide, and Minerva wondered what it was she was seeing when she looked at Holly. The ghost of her sister, perhaps? Or was it that of her mother? Whatever she saw, it gave Petunia's features a haunted cast.

"Come along, Holly," Minerva said, picking her up. "Let's go meet your uncle, and then you can go to sleep."

"An' see Paddy, an' Moony, an' Wormy 'morrow?"

"No, Holly. They can't see you anymore," Minerva answered at the top of the stairs.

"They go 'eaven too?"

"No, they just live far away. You live here now, which is too large a distance for them to travel."

"Oh."

Petunia silently followed the two of them down the stairs, and into the sitting room where Dumbledore was sitting with a very pale Vernon Dursley. Lily's sister crossed to her husband's side, and took his hand. He looked up at her bleakly, "We have to take the girl, Pet. And we have to keep her calm. The magic will happen when she is unhappy or upset. We can keep her calm, can't we?"

"Of course you can," Minerva said, answering for Petunia. "Holly is a very sweet girl."

"I's a good girl," Holly said proudly.

Vernon snapped his head up and took in the sight of the baby. For a moment, he almost looked afraid of her, and then it passed. He shot a frightened look to Dumbledore, and he gave her a weak smile. "Hello, Holly."

"Hello!" she said with a sunny smile. "Who's you?"

"This is your Uncle Vernon. He is married to your aunt," Minerva said.

"Like Mummy an' Daddy?" Holly asked.

Once again, Minerva was amazed at how Holly made connections in her head. She was obviously a very smart little girl. "Yes, Holly. Just like your Mummy and Daddy were."

"Otay," Holly said. She then saw the other occupant of the room and cried, "Bumbabee!"

Dumbledore laughed. Holly tried to get down, so Minerva lowered her to the floor. Once she touched the carpet, she sped off right to the Headmaster. He picked her up and swung her onto his hip. Minerva had never seen him interact with a child so young before Holly and was surprised by how good he was with her. He patiently waited as Holly pointed out all of the shiny things on him, and it was only after she was done that he turned to McGonagall and said, "I think Mr. Dursley and I understand each other now. She will be fine."

Minerva nodded stiffly. "Then shall we go?"

"I suppose so." He looked down at the toddler in his arms and smiled. "Now Holly, we are going to go and you are going to stay with your aunt and uncle. We will see you again when you are much older. Be a good girl."

"Good girl," Holly parroted him, just as she had with Sirius. Once Dumbledore put her down, she waved a hand at him and said, "Bye-bye."

"Goodbye, Holly."

A few moments later, the two magical educators finally left Privet Drive under the cover of darkness. Minerva felt unaccountably sad, and she imagined Albus felt the same way. Though Holly seemed subdued when they left, she didn't exhibit any fear about being left with strangers. She just hoped that they had warned the Dursleys thoroughly enough that she would be safe and well cared for, if not loved.

"Albus," she began, once they turned the corner onto Wisteria Walk, "What was it you said to that Dursley man to make him so agreeable in the end?"

"Nothing more or less than the truth, my dear Professor," Dumbledore said, his voice darkening slightly. "I told him exactly what happens to magical children who feel threatened."

The ghost of his sister ever at Albus's back went unremarked by Minerva.

* * *

The portraits in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts looked down at the occupants of the room with avid curiosity. In one chair, the new Potions master was leaning forward, his arms braced on his legs, and his face a study in abject misery. Standing over him was Dumbledore, who watched the man with a grave face. The two of them could not be seen at a greater contrast, Dumbledore in bright colors, and Snape in stark black.

"I thought you were going to keep her safe," Snape gasped out, sounding like a wounded animal.

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person. Rather like you, Severus," Dumbledore said. He only allowed his thoughts a brief moment to flicker to Sirius Black. He would be dealt with, Dumbledore would see to it. "Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

The Potions Professor breathed rather shallowly, swallowing convulsively.

"Her daughter survives," Dumbledore said. When he received no response, he said louder, "Her daughter lives. She is the exact replica of Lily, from her red hair to her heart-shaped face. You remember Lily Evan's delicate features, I am sure?"

"Don't!" Snape yelled. "She's gone, dead..."

"Is this remorse, Severus?" Dumbledore asked coolly, feeling little pity for the Death Eater seated before him. The man had made his own choices and had been hoping to the last that his master would save Lily.

"I wish...I wish I were dead."

"And what use would that be to anyone?" Dumbledore asked, his voice dropping even further in temperature. It had been a long day, and he was rather sick of people in general now. All he wanted was to sleep for the first time in seventy-two hours, and yet there was still work to be done. Despite all the people celebrating, the Dark Lord would return and when he did, Albus did not intend for Snape to be the loose end upon which he built his victory. This had to be handled carefully. Looking at the younger man, he said, "If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

"What...what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's daughter."

"She does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone—"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Holly Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

It took a long moment, but Snape finally said, "Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear...especially Potter's daughter...I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed. "If you insist, of course you have my word."

Snape nodded in relief. "What is to become of the girl now?"

"I prefer not to share that information with anyone," Dumbledore said. "Her safety depends on her anonymity. No one can know where she is."

"She was here earlier," Snape said suddenly, eyeing Dumbledore keenly. "The students were speaking of it."

Dumbledore met his gaze calmly. "A mere stopgap until she could be moved to her new home." The Headmaster did not like the face of Severus in that moment. He had a lean and hungry look, and was obviously thinking and trying to determine the information that he needed to know. Dumbledore realized only then the wisdom in never letting Severus have too much information about Holly's whereabouts. Snape might no longer be a supporter of Lord Voldemort, but his habit of collecting information like a spider catches its prey was far too ingrained now. Severus Snape would become dangerous once more were he not watched closely.

"She will be as arrogant as her father," Severus announced, getting up from his chair to leave the room.

"Perhaps, perhaps not."

At the door, with his hand on the knob, Snape turned back and looked at the Headmaster once more. "She looks just like her mother, you say?"

The look on Severus's face was unreadable, but Dumbledore gave a wary nod all the same. Once the man was gone, the venerable Professor wondered if he had not just done something that would come back to hurt them all very dearly one day.

* * *

Hissing and snapping could be heard in the hearth of the Transfiguration Professor's office. The fire was high, greedily licking at the logs that had just been put on it. Elsewhere, it seemed as though every member of the Wizarding world was celebrating. All of the individual houses of Hogwarts were in their common rooms, full of good cheer and raucous partying. Most of the Professors had departed to be with their families, except the heads of houses and Minerva.

Oh, she supposed that she could have walked down to see her brother Malcolm and his family in Hogsmeade, or apparated to Inverness to visit Robert and his brood. She even could have gone home to Halladale in Caithness and visited her mother and father. Every member of her family would have been happy to see her, and eager for her to join in the festivities, but she didn't feel much like celebrating.

It wasn't so thrilling that You-Know-Who was gone, when it had come at the expense of James and Lily. James Potter she had always quietly adored, but getting to know Lily these past few months...Minerva truly had lost a friend.

No one could have been more surprised than Minerva when Lily Evans Potter had reached out to her after the death of Marlene McKinnon. Raising a child in the Wizarding World was always a challenge, but when it was without friends of ones own, it could be down right wretched. In a way, it did make sense. All of Lily's friends had died by that point. Mary Macdonald had died almost immediately after Hogwarts in a raid in Diagon Alley. Dorcas Meadowes by Voldemort's hand a week before Marlene, and then finally the McKinnon family, and with them, Lily's last friend. Oh, she had been friendly enough with Alice Longbottom and Emmeline Vance, but she only knew them from the Order, and they had both been at least a decade older than her, quite busy with their own lives.

McGonagall knew that she had been seen as safe by Lily, someone the young witch could ask her questions to about women in the wizarding world, without being thought dumb by pure-bloods who knew such things instinctively. The half-blood Transfiguration Professor had been someone who could understand her. Who knew, like Lily Potter, about having ties in both worlds, and this understanding had created a strong bond of friendship between the women.

So, no, Minerva didn't feel like celebrating. She wanted to cry, but she was quite certain she had forgotten how.

The fireplace roared to life, green flames shooting high into the hearth, and out stepped Elphinstone Urquart. Minerva tensed instinctively, but relaxed when she saw who it was. Phin Urquart had been her boss when she worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and her friend in the years following. He was a tall, robust Scotsman with a full head of white hair, black eyebrows and mustache, and a grey beard trimmed close to his face. His sharp features were very handsome, except when they were pinched with displeasure as they were in that moment.

"There you are," he said, with some annoyance in his tone. "I have been floo-calling all day, and you never answered. I've been checking back every hour until I finally saw you were in your office. For all that's holy, woman, are you trying to send me to an early grave?"

Minerva looked up at his kind face, looking at her with such concern, that the wall which she had felt steadily building around her heart crumbled to pieces. With a muffled sob, she threw back her chair and rushed forward and fell into Phin's arms.

Immediately, he held her tightly, making soothing noises in his throat as she cried. One of his large hands rubbed up and down her back in a soothing motion, and he softly said, "There, there." Her emotions seemed to wring from her, tears falling long after she would have stopped them if she could. But it was just too much. Too much death, too much wasted life. She longed to go back to her childhood in the Highlands, before she had ever heard the name Lord Voldemort.

When Minerva stepped back, she felt mortified. Never had she been so close to him before—though he would have liked to be, considering how many times he had proposed marriage to her. Under normal circumstances she would have gone rigid, and shied away from him, but he didn't give her the opportunity.

Phin tilted up her chin, wiping her face with his handkerchief, and asked, "There now, what's all this about, hmm?"

All of the sudden, Minerva was tired of keeping herself apart. She was tired of being alone, of watching everyone else move on and live, and feeling like she was the only one stuck in one place. She was tired of rejecting Phin, who seemed to love her so much, and though she reciprocated it, she hadn't been able to let go of her love from childhood, Dougal McGregor. But the Muggle farmer was dead now, and Phin was here, looking at her with eyes full of such pure love and understanding.

So she told him everything. Out came the story of the Order of the Phoenix, and how they had been fighting for the past ten years to stop Voldemort, and how little progress they ever made. Minerva mentioned all the deaths, and how many young lives had been cut short, people who were more than just names and obituaries in the Daily Prophet to her. She told him about Dougal, and how she had refused to relive her mother's life and give up magic for a Muggle man. And then she spoke of Lily and James, and poor little Holly, who she had grown to care so much for, even in the short time that the child had been in her charge. So much tumbled out of her mouth, that by the time she was done, she was rather parched.

Once she was finished speaking, he pressed a glass of water into her hand. "Here, brave heart. Drink, you'll feel better."

Minerva did, and all the while she watched Phin's face. She examined his features and eyes, but where she expected to see anger for all the secrets she had kept, all she was acceptance. There was no censure, no judgment. Just love. Once she put the water glass down, she reached out instinctively for his hand, and he happily met her, twining their fingers together.

"Can you ever forgive me for all the secrets and lies?" she asked, lowly.

He looked confused for a moment, and then smiled. "From what you said, it sounds as though much of what you kept secret was for my own protection. As Deputy Head of the DMLE, it would have been hard for me to turn a blind eye to the goings on of the Order was I informed about them. Though, I have to tell you, I long suspected that you were involved with them."

"You did?" She felt shocked.

He nodded. "It made you happy to be doing something, so I said nothing." His dark blue eyes then met her own green ones and he held her gaze steadily. "Nothing you have done, or could ever do, would change my feelings for you, Minerva. I love you; I always have, even when you were that young filly who seemed determined to take the Ministry by storm, but became so sad when you thought no one was looking. I was too old for you then, as I am for you now, but I have never loved another and that will not change. I have said it before, and I will say it again: I will wait for you as long as it takes."

"Then, about Dougal," she said tentatively. "You don't mind?"

He gave her a little smile. "I have often supposed that a broken heart ailed you, but it wasn't something that I was willing to allow me to be deterred from winning your hand once you were ready again."

"Phin..." she said softly, her voice full of longing. Minerva turned her face up to meet his and smiled. "Ask me again."

A beaming smile broke across his face, and softened the traces of age which had begun to creep in. Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to the knuckles, and said, "Minerva Isobel McGonagall, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes," she whispered, her heart full.

The moment he kissed her for the first time, she wondered why she had been so slow to see that perfect happiness had been in front of her face for so long.


	5. Chapter Four

_Witchcraft has not a pedigree,  
'Tis early as our breath,  
And mourners meet it going out  
The moment of our death._

_—Emily Dickinson,_ _The Single Hound; Poems of a Lifetime_

* * *

Chapter Four

Holly's first morning at Privet Drive went surprisingly well. Of course, it could only be considered so when measured against what it could have been. Dumbledore had, perhaps unintentionally, done more than he planned to do when he put the fear of God into Vernon Dursley. The old Headmaster hadn't intended the story he related (which Vernon later repeated to Petunia verbatim) about what happens to magical children when they are abused and suppressed to be anything more than a cautionary tale to encourage the Dursleys to treat Holly fairly. And, were the Dursleys the ordinary people they thought they were, the story would have stirred their compassion and given them a better understanding of how to relate to their niece.

But the Dursleys were not average, nice people. Petunia and Vernon lived in horror of the idea that they would be seen as anything but normal. And this was where in Albus Dumbledore's story found its audience. There was nothing to be lost in making the girl miserable if they could guarantee that no one would ever know about it. But the Professor's words had painted a picture they couldn't stand the thought of. Magic out of control, property being destroyed, people finding out—these were all things that would lead to what the Dursleys saw as their own downfall.

And they feared this. They feared this the way good people would fear the death of a loved one, or the financial ruin of their family. The reason they had cut off all communications with the Potters in the first place had been because they preferred to pretend that Petunia never had a sister, rather than deal with being related to someone who did not fit in with their ideas of behavior. It was this single idea on which they built the foundation of their lives upon.

Nothing was worth more than their reputation.

So, Petunia and Vernon had talked it over the previous night. After Holly was in her new bedroom, slightly surprised over the way her new Aunt had dropped her in her crib and run for the door, the two adults in the house had bent their heads close together and plotted. They were stuck with the brat, no mistaking it. In order to be safe from other weirdoes like her lot, they had to do it. But, they both agreed, there was no reason that it had to be more unpleasant beyond what it was already going to be.

The girl simply had to be kept calm. "After all, pet," Vernon had said, giving a delicate shudder, "No one can know what she really is, so the only thing to do is to keep her from needing to resort to that freakishness in the first place. We'll treat her as we would a stranger's child, who happens to be visiting. He never said we had to love her."

And that was how they became resolved. Lily's daughter would have a room in their house and food at their table. Nothing more. They would never care for her, certainly, and eventually she would go away to where all freaks went, and then they would never have to think of her again.

But it was in this plan that the two of them underestimated Holly.

Had she been younger, they might have succeeded in treating her with perfect indifference. But she wasn't. Holly was almost two years old, and advanced for her age. She could speak in sentences and feed herself; she was toilet trained and perfectly well behaved. As she had spent the last two years being surrounded continuously by strangers, like the Order of the Phoenix members who were constantly dropping by, Holly had learned how to not only entertain herself, but also how to ignore distractions.

It was in this way that she wasn't bothered by Dudley Dursley pinching her at the breakfast table, or trying to rip her teddy to pieces (he failed) before lunch. She didn't seem to notice or care when her Uncle responded to her goodbye by grunting. And Holly only thanked her Aunt politely when her lunch was slammed down on the table in front of her. The Potter daughter had no experience of casual cruelty in people, and so she didn't see the Dursleys as anything but the kind people they must be, as to her there was no other sort.

So she played patiently with Dudley, showing him how to put the blocks together and stack them, not noticing the anxious and horrified look on Petunia's face at the sight of them getting along, even for a moment. She was quiet while Petunia was on the phone with the undertaker at Godric's Hollow, despite never having seen a telephone in her life, unlike her cousin. She calmly told her Aunt when she was hungry or had to go to the bathroom, and never considered that her ability to talk was saving her a lot of grief. And when Vernon got home, and actually squeaked when she said hello, Holly didn't think much on it.

To Holly, the Dursleys might be funny shaped people, and not warm like Mummy and Daddy were, but she was slowly starting to understand that her parents weren't coming back right away. Heaven must be very far, she was sure. Paddy and Bumbabee told her to be good, and so Holly, in child-like logic, was certain that if she was a very good girl, maybe Mummy and Daddy would come back for her one day. So she didn't cry and she didn't fuss, because she knew that soon she would be back with her family, and the horsy-woman called An' Tuney and the tomato-man called Unca Vermin and the beach ball called Dudsy would soon be a thing of the past.

And because she was so well-behaved, the Dursleys were able to tolerate and even get used to her presence, even if they could never love her.

* * *

The weeks passed, and the occupants of Privet Drive had no idea of the great shakeup that had taken place in the Wizarding world. The explosion in Bristol the morning after Holly arrived with them didn't stir their notice beyond Vernon complaining about cheap contracting of city gas lines. They just went about their lives, trying to get used to their new addition.

Petunia, due to one of her many idiosyncrasies, was a person who thrived on order. From the obsessive cleanliness of her house to the regimented way she lived her life, it was apparent in everything she did. Whether this was a direct reaction to once having had a sister who could make things decidedly un-orderly on command is unclear. But she certainly never wasted time in getting Holly on a schedule that fit her ideas of child-rearing.

They woke before eight, and breakfast immediately followed. After that was playtime, while Petunia hovered nervously and tried to keep Dudley from playing with his cousin. Both children went down for morning and afternoon naps, ate dinner on time, and finished with bath before bed. And all the while, whenever she could, Petunia cleaned, cleaned, cleaned, because the house could never truly be clean enough.

This new schedule was odd to Holly, as she was used to a much more relaxed household, but at least she was comforted by the presence of her mother's cat Artemis. The feline companion seemed to sense that something had changed, and stuck close to Holly at all times initially. The black cat watched Dudley with narrowed green eyes, and would spit at Petunia or Vernon if they even slightly raised their voices at Holly. The Dursleys wanted nothing to do with the creature, but were too afraid of upsetting Holly, and thereby making her do magic, by getting rid of it. So Petunia made sure to feed it its meals regularly, and let it out in the morning and evening, and disregarded Artemis the rest of the time.

Which was precisely how Artemis preferred it. With the family ignoring her, the cat was allowed to be with Holly, her person, and cuddle up to her during nap time, and sit beneath the table for the little one to drop morsels down during supper. And to Holly, Artemis stood for continuance. Though some things had changed, the kitty was proof that not all of them had.

The more-cold-than-usual weather that came with November kept them all inside, which Petunia rejoiced in because it meant she didn't yet have to explain Holly's presence to the neighborhood. She wasn't quite sure what she would say to people. Initially, she had thought to tell people that Holly's parents were drunks who died in a car crash, but everything about Holly belied this idea. The nasty little thing was happy and well taken care of, and decidedly intelligent. If only the brat was too young to contradict her! The only thing worse, to Petunia's mind, than people not believing the story of Holly's origins, was the horrible thought that they might take it into their minds to look closer at the girl and thus discover her secret.

No, that horrible truth had to be protected at all costs, so a different story had to be devised. Petunia did consider saying that Holly had been abandoned, but again the little girl was constantly talking about her Mummy and Daddy as loving parents, not realizing that her audience wanted to lock her in the cupboard every time she said things like "Mummy plays dollies. Dollies with silly voices. An' Daddy sounds like a bear. An' Paddy is a puppy!" Petunia also considered saying that there had been a fire, but again she was afraid of Holly letting something slip, and it seemed a little too coincidental that both Petunia's parents, and her sister and brother-in-law had died in separate fires.

She had still been turning the problem over and over in her mind one day in late November, when there was a break in the cold weather, and Petunia finally decided to give into Dudley's daily demands for the park. She bundled up both the children, though she did Holly grudgingly, and set off with Dudley in the pram, and Holly on her hip. (Really, would it have killed that awful witch to fix the pram and car seat situation as well?) The moment the trio arrived at the playground, Dudley immediately demanded the swings, while Holly amused herself on the slide.

As she absentmindedly pushed Dudley, Petunia allowed her eyes to drift over to her niece. One of the things that bothered her most about the girl was her incredible resemblance to Lily. Petunia had even pulled out an old and dusty photo album just to make sure her mind wasn't tricking her and imagining a likeness where none existed. But, much to her surprise, if anything she had been mentally downplaying the similarity. The only true differences, from what Petunia could tell, was that Holly had curly hair, while Lily's had been wavy; Holly had hazel eyes to Lily's green, and Holly's were slightly rounder than Lily's had been. That was it. The rest was all the same, and it was painful to see it.

Painful because it reminded Petunia of things she would prefer to forget: of a time when she had once loved her sister, and had been convinced that they would be best friends forever; of a little girl who had once thought her older sibling had hung the stars and the moon; and of a horrible boy and a thick letter that had torn it all away.

It was dangerous to remember such things. If for no other reason than that Petunia had found herself, more than once, creeping into Holly's room and watching her sleep. As her tiny chest had risen up and down, Petunia had found herself both hating and loving her sister in equal measure. Hating her for the magic, for the going away, for the dying. And loving her for the past, for the things Petunia had forgotten, and for naming her daughter after Evans traditions. Petunia Dursley hadn't realized how much it would mean to her that her sister had not forgotten who she was, once Lily had been completely absorbed by the magical world. Of course, this all changed nothing. It couldn't, too much time had passed. Still, it did make hating Holly just a little bit harder. But Petunia had always been dedicated when she put her mind to something. She was certain she would prevail.

"An' Tuney, up."

Petunia looked down, surprised to see that Holly had left the slides and now wanted to be lifted onto the small swing next to Dudley's. The sour woman lifted her niece, gave her a push, and then immediately went back to her son. Holly didn't seem to mind, and was soon pumping her legs and crying out, "An' Tuney, lookey, lookey!"

Petunia gave the little girl a pained smile when Holly looked her way, and then turned back to her son.

"Petunia, hello."

She turned then to see one of the neighbors, Julia Asher, smiling at her genially. Julia had her two year old daughter Margaret on her hip. The Ashers lived on Magnolia Crescent, which was slightly more upscale than Privet Drive, and all the residents never let anyone else forget it. Their houses were bigger, and this was used as a way of them controlling the neighborhood. With her group of friends, Julia ran all the local social committees as well as the bridge games, and she decided who was allowed to attend the functions and who was not. Until now, Petunia had never even merited so much as a friendly greeting beyond an initial introduction, so it struck the younger woman as odd that Julia was suddenly friendly now.

"Hello, Julia. Just out for a bit of air with Maggie?" Petunia simpered, smiling insincerely at the beautiful blonde.

"Of course, we couldn't wait to take advantage of the weather," Julia said, setting her daughter down in her pram. "I saw you across the park with your son Douglas—"

"—Dudley," Petunia interjected.

"—and I was wondering who the beautiful little girl with you was? I've never seen her before."

"Well," Petunia said, pursing her lips, "that's my niece, Holly."

Holly heard her name, and immediately smiled at Julia and her daughter. "Hello," she called out cheerfully.

Julia beamed. "Well, aren't you just precious? It's nice to meet you, Holly."

The toddler smiled and waved her fingers.

"Are you visiting your aunt and uncle?" Julia asked her, making Petunia momentarily panic that Holly might say something about magic, but she needn't have worried.

"I live here," Holly said. "Mummy an' Daddy gone ta 'eaven."

Julia appropriately gasped. "Oh, I am so sorry." Turning away from the little girl, she asked Petunia, "Was this your brother or sister? Or one of your husband's relatives?"

"My sister, Lily," Petunia said stiffly. "And her husband, of course."

"I see," Julia nodded. "When did they pass?"

"Around Halloween," she replied.

"How did they die?" Julia asked.

Before Petunia could say anything, Holly, who had been following along with their conversation piped in, "The bad man came. He made house go boom."

Julia gasped again, looking both horrified and titillated. "Oh, you poor dear. IRA, was it?" she asked Petunia. "I saw that they had been active over Halloween in the Times."

Petunia simply nodded.

"Oh, poor you," Julia said soothingly. "How awful that must have been to lose your sister, and then to take in your orphaned niece...hmm, that really was good of you Petunia." She patted the other woman on the hand, and turned to go, but then paused, and looked back at the other woman. "You know," Julia said idly, her glance slightly calculating, "Charles and I will be having our annual Christmas party on the nineteenth. It would be lovely if you and yours could attend. Though I hope I see you before then, of course. You know, I am hosting the weekly card game this week. It would be so divine if you could come. I'll send 'round a note."

With that Julia swept off, only pausing to say goodbye to Holly, who waved merrily at the other woman. Petunia felt as though she was in a state of shock. She had lived in the neighborhood for three years, and never once had she been invited to one of Julia Asher's parties. That door had always been closed to her, she reflected, as Dudley screamed about getting down and Holly swung happily by herself. But it seemed as though something, or someone, had changed things.

Her eyes narrowed in calculated suspicion as she took in the sight of Lily's daughter. Petunia then realized something she had never considered during the previous month. Something that would never have occurred to her in a million years. Something so radical that she would never have come up with it on her own. Something that would ensure that her niece would have a better life than Petunia would have otherwise been willing to give her.

In Holly, Lily had created a perfect little doll of a girl. Though Petunia loathed her, even she could admit that this was true. Holly had pretty features and hair, and her clothes were all lovely and of the best quality. She was polite, friendly, engaging, and charming, and happy to meet and talk to strangers. And Petunia couldn't have planned it more perfectly.

The brat could be of some use to her after all.

And she was.

Over the next month, heading into the Christmas holidays, all of the neighborhood marveled over the sweet little girl who had been brutally orphaned by terrorists. It suited the vanity of the inhabitants of Little Whinging that such a charming child was related to one of their own, and that they had such a delicious thing to talk about. And Petunia couldn't have been more happy. She imperiously held court at every Christmas party she attended, lauding the tragic beauty of her sister, and the wealth of her husband James. Petunia mentioned the exclusive boarding school Lily attended, phrasing it in such a way that her audience had no idea she had not attended as well, and spoke about how Holly's name had been down since she was born. All the while Vernon sweated nervously. Holly was dressed in the expensive silk dresses that Lily had bought for her, and paraded out so that everyone could marvel at her. All the guests commented on her language skills for one so young, and her obvious intelligence, and praised Petunia and Vernon for their charity in taking the little girl in.

So when presents came for Holly's birthday on the twenty-second of December, Petunia grudgingly gave them to the little girl. They were mostly Muggle clothing, and a few more dolls and plushies from Minerva McGonagall. Certainly nothing that Petunia could find any use for. She did consider for a moment giving the plush animals to Dudley, but the idea fell away from her mind like a drop of water down a window pane, and didn't occur to her again. Holly's aunt did save half of them, as the note indicated, for Christmas, and so it was that Holly had things to open on that day as well. And later, when Dudley tried to break Holly's toys, oddly, the porcelain dolls wouldn't shatter and the arms of the animals remained firmly stitched together. Eventually the little boy lost interest and returned to breaking his own brand new toys, and Holly was left in peace while Artemis watched smugly from beneath the bottom branches of the Christmas tree. And Vernon and Petunia were so pleased at their social successes that when Vernon had too much wine to drink at dinner, he reached over the Christmas pudding and patted Holly on the head, and called her a 'good girl.'

It certainly wasn't an idyllic existence, but it could have been much worse.


	6. Chapter Five

_"My mother says I must not pass  
Too near that glass;  
She is afraid that I will see  
A little witch that looks like me,  
With a red, red mouth to whisper low  
The very thing I should not know!"_

_"Alack for all your mother's care!  
A bird of the air,  
A wistful wind, or (I suppose  
Sent by some hapless boy) a rose,  
With breath too sweet, will whisper low  
The very thing you should not know!"_

_—Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt, The Witch in the Glass_

* * *

Chapter Five

The years passed, as years always do, but Privet Drive and the houses on it remained much unaltered. New families moved in, and others departed, but this did little to change the overall feel of the town of Little Whinging. A place as supercilious as that one doesn't permit alteration if it can avoid it, so the only true thing to mark the passing time was the change of the people who lived within its borders. And this was especially true in the house of Number Four.

Ten years and almost two months had passed since Holly had come to live with the Dursleys, but not a lick of furniture had been altered within the house. The only nod to the passage of time was the photographs on the mantel piece. They originally had contained pictures of a fat baby wearing a bonnet, but now they showed that baby growing up into an even fatter boy, and joined by another blond boy half his age. The funny thing about those photos though, was sometimes they had a little girl in them as well. Most of the time, she was completely absent from the pictures, but whenever guests came over, out came the pictures of Holly as she grew older and prettier with time.

This was very much indicative of the Dursleys' attitude towards Holly in general. She was little more than a show piece to them, and worth nothing unless it brought prestige to the family. Her early experiences that first Christmas in Surrey reflected her later life. Because she was so charming and sweet, Petunia capitalized on this immediately. Local women, who had been standoffish before to Petunia due to her northern accent and uncontrollable child, ended up allowing the Dursley woman to join in exclusive groups and activities because of Holly. This was how Petunia joined the Little Whinging Ladies' Aid Society, and Surrey branch of Matrons for Better Living—which was just a fancy title for women who wrote nasty notes about the state of the roads and pavements in their town to the government.

As Holly's value in the Dursley household had much to do with how she was perceived by others, she had had one of the most stringent upbringings possible. Normal little girls were allowed to run and play and scream and yell, but not Holly Ivy Potter. She had very strict rules set down by her Aunt which governed all areas of her life.

Holly always had to wear dresses, never trousers. Her hair was rarely cut, so as a result it was down to her bottom, and always worn in braids or well-brushed. Shoes were patent leather, and worn with ankle socks in the summer and stockings in the winter. And woe betide her if she ever stained her clothing, even accidentally. Holly always received her clothes as Christmas and birthday presents, and their formal quality reflected the giver who had not lived in the Muggle world since she herself was a little girl during the Second World War. But, it turned out that a more formal mode of dress suited Aunt Petunia just fine and she was always gave a delicate sniff of approval when the clothes came.

But clothes were only the beginning. Holly was not allowed to play like other girls, except during Girl Guides and at the playground when everyone was watching. Even then, Holly had to act with _decorum_. This was a word she had learned when she was very young and dared to ride her bicycle in the park—a present one Christmas—and crashed it into a tree. The bike was fine, but Holly scraped her knee and had to listen to Aunt Petunia go on and on about decorum for weeks afterwards.

The rest of the time, Holly had to participate in the activities that her Aunt had carefully picked out. Girl Guides was fun, Holly didn't mind that so much, but she absolutely hated her ballet lessons. It wasn't that she was bad at it, but she loathed the girls in her class. Unlike with the Guides, the ballet lessons were made up of select children whose parents could pay, and as a result each of the girls was more wretched than the last. There was Veruca Lazenby, who was the most spoiled brat in the world; Margaret Asher, who had the grace of a hippo but was extraordinarily beautiful so she tried to boss everyone around; and there was Kate Witten, who was the daughter of a junior executive at Grunnings who worked with her Uncle Vernon and always trying to suck up to Holly.

Holly also had to take piano lessons, since Petunia was convinced that 'refined' girls did that. She didn't mind those lessons so much—because if there was one thing in the world she loved it was music—except for the fact that they were given by Mrs. Figg, who lived two streets away. Her house smelled like cabbage, and Mrs. Figg used her husband's death as an excuse to buy several cats. Normally, Holly wouldn't mind, as she liked cats and had one of her own—a black cat called Artemis—but Mrs. Figg took pictures of them and was constantly trying to get Holly to stay for tea after lessons and look at photos of her felines. And because her Aunt paid for the lessons, Holly had to practice on the Dursleys' upright piano for an hour each day. Sometimes when she did this, the little redheaded girl would allow her mind to drift and dream about a world in which her parents hadn't been killed by a terrorist.

That was why Holly lived with the Dursleys.

Her parents had died because of the Troubles, in a bombing in the West Country. Her mother Lily was Aunt Petunia's sister, and Holly looked extraordinarily like her. The little girl only had two photographs of her parents; one of their wedding, and another of when her mother was pregnant with her. Aunt Petunia didn't like to talk about them, and the only reason Holly knew their first names was because they were engraved on the picture frame of them standing in front of a motorbike.

Lily Potter looked nothing like her sister, while James Potter looked nothing like Holly. From what Holly could tell, the only thing she had inherited from her father was his eyes. Still, that didn't stop her from sometimes sitting for hours in her room, with Artemis on her lap, hugging their photo close and wishing with a fervent hope that they weren't dead.

They looked so kind, so happy. Holly was convinced that if she lived with her parents, they wouldn't care if she didn't get perfect marks in school. (Holly had gotten less than an A only once, and never again. The disgust on her Aunt Petunia's face had been too awful to dare repeating.) They wouldn't care if she got mud on her dresses, and maybe she would even be allowed to wear trousers! They wouldn't care that she hated Brussels sprouts, and they certainly wouldn't force her to eat them. And, most importantly of all, they wouldn't care that Holly could make Odd Things happen.

This was perhaps the one thing about her that had angered her Aunt and Uncle beyond reason. Most of the time, they had been willing to be civil, if not loving, to their niece, except when she made Odd Things happen. There was simply no forgiving it to the Dursleys. As Holly had been taught from an early age that she had to be perfect, she did want to please the Dursleys, but this was one tiny inch of her life for which she refused to bend.

It was her great secret, you see. To the Dursleys' minds, Odd Things had stopped happening when Holly was about six. This, of course, drastically improved the attitude and atmosphere at Privet Drive, but in this her guardians were mistaken. Odd Things hadn't stopped happening, Holly had simply learned how to control them.

She had known she was different from the time she was a little girl. Though she couldn't remember her parents well, she did have occasional flashes of them. Her mother had smelled of gardenias and lemons, and her father had always snapped his fingers when he was talking. These were small things, things Holly treasured, but there were other, bigger things she remembered too. She remembered a laughing man who could turn into a dog, though she couldn't tell you what the dog looked like other than it was black. And she remembered a flying broomstick in the back yard, and her mother doing Odd Things in the kitchen to make breakfast.

Something about her parents had been different, strange, and Holly knew the Dursleys knew about it too. All her life, since she came to Privet Drive, they got very nervous at the mention of anything out of the ordinary. They became positively moody on Halloween, and refused to attend any parties whatsoever. When the Girl Guides had once been putting on a play about King Arthur and wanted Holly to play Morgana, Petunia had told them that Holly was sick and kept her home for two weeks from school and everything just so Holly couldn't participate.

And, of course, there was the very memorable time that Holly had been watching _Snow White_ on the telly because Dudley couldn't find anything better, and Uncle Vernon had walked in on the part with the witch making the poisoned apple in her cauldron. He had shouted so loudly, and Holly had only been five and scared—and then the window shattered. After that, her uncle had spoken in whispers around Holly for a month.

Holly wasn't stupid. She was a very smart little girl, and she realized that the Odd Things that happened around her were her doing. She had made the window shatter. Just like she had made herself float when she fell off the swings at the age of four. And there was the time she had forgotten her homework at home, and she had been so worried that she would get a bad grade, and suddenly it was there, right in her hand. Once she had been able to put all the pieces together, it had been like a fever in her mind. Holly hadn't been able to rest until she could control it. She would go to her room when Dudley was off with Piers and Malcolm, and her Aunt was downstairs cleaning or playing with her cousin Bobby, and she would practice Moving things.

At first, all she had accomplished was stopping Odd Things from happening around the Dursleys. But soon it had progressed to the point that she could make her dolls dance and call her books to her from across the room. She never did these things in front of the Dursleys, but Holly could do them all the same. The little girl often wondered what it meant. At first she had just though it was something like telekinesis—she had looked that word up at the library—but then that really didn't fit in with the way her Aunt and Uncle were so against anything fanciful.

It hadn't taken her long to realize that Odd Things really meant witchcraft.

She had worried for two weeks after that, thinking that the IRA killed her parents because they wanted to burn them at the stake, but blew them up instead. Eventually though, once she was able to calm down, she realized that they couldn't have known her parents, or maybe just her mother, was magical. If they had known, they would have killed Holly too.

Holly knew she was there that night because sometimes she had nightmares about green light that must have been the flash from the explosion, and laughing. And she had a scar on her chest from where a piece of the house had fallen on her. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, and Holly hated it because she knew it she had gotten it the night her parents died. Aunt Petunia called it "her deformity."

Still, there were inconsistencies with the whole story. For one thing, someone had gotten her out of the house and knew to bring her to her Aunt's. It hadn't been the government who had done that. And Holly had things from the house which hadn't been blown up, like photos or her music box or the two trunks which sat in her closet and refused to open no matter what Holly did. And there were the presents that Holly got sent on her birthday and Christmas every year which never had a card.

It was all very confusing, but her Aunt and Uncle refused to talk about it, so Holly supposed there were some things she would never know. Like how she was a witch when such things were supposed to be make believe, and why her parents had died. Even so, it didn't keep her from wondering and longing for the two people who had left such a great hole in her life.

Holly finally got the answers to her questions on her eleventh birthday.

She was born in December, right next to Christmas, which would have been awful for most children because it meant that all their presents got crammed together, but for Holly who generally received clothes and one toy for both occasions—it didn't really matter to her. There was nothing she loved more than winter. It often snowed in the week leading up to her birthday, and that meant that Holly was excused from ballet. For the last several years, Surrey had been getting Sea-effect snow, and Holly had loved every minute of it.

Maybe it was because she had been born right by Christmas on the second day of winter, or maybe it was because of her name, whatever the reason, Holly had always loved Christmas and everything to do with the winter season. In fact, her favorite book was called _The Story of Holly & Ivy_, which was about an orphan named Ivy who was adopted by a loving family at Christmastime and had a doll named Holly. After she had received that book one Christmas, Holly had named her favorite porcelain doll (who until that point had been called Dolly) Ivy. And her music box, which was from before, played "The Holly and the Ivy" when it was wound, which had always been her favorite Christmas carol.

For all her love of the season though, Holly hadn't expected anything exciting to happen on her birthday. And when she was walking down the stairs that morning, it hadn't been with any real eagerness. She knew she wouldn't receive her presents until after supper, and though there was a cake because Dudley demanded one, there were never any candles. All she had to look forward to that day were piano lessons in the afternoon as long as the snow stopped in time.

"I know what today is."

Holly stepped off the bottom step and looked at her oldest cousin with confusion. "Yes, and so do I. We learned the days of the week together, remember?"

"It's your birthday," Dudley smirked. "Betcha won't get anything but clothes."

She rolled her eyes. "No deal, too easy."

"Are you gonna get pwesents, Holly?" Bobby, her younger cousin asked, following Dudley out of the sitting room.

Bobby wasn't much like the rest of the Dursleys. He was only four, and already had a much sweeter nature than his brother. He looked nothing like Dudley either, save for the blond hair on his head. Aunt Petunia said this was because he took after the Evans side, and Holly had seen enough pictures of her maternal grandparents to know that this was true. Dudley was wholly uninterested in his brother, and called him a whiny baby. Holly was certain this was just because Bobby was six years younger than Dudley and could already count better than his older brother.

"We'll see," Holly told him, smiling. "A new doll would be nice, but I would appreciate anything."

"I drew you a picture," Bobby confided, "but you have to act surprised when you open it."

Holly chuckled and promised she would. Then, with Bobby and Dudley at her heels, she then turned and walked into the kitchen. They all sat down at the table, her cousins on either side of her Uncle, and her Aunt immediately gave Holly a sensible portion of porridge and piled Dudley's plate high with a full English breakfast. Bobby received a quarter of what Dudley did, though they all knew he would barely eat half of it. He was a very picky eater.

She had always thought it was disgusting the way her Aunt and Uncle treated Dudley. He was the perfect prince to their minds who could do no wrong, and they spoiled him ridiculously. He ate whatever he wanted when he wanted, and he absolutely ran mad, unlike Holly with her regimented life. He tended towards being a bully, but mostly he left Holly alone as he was slightly afraid of her, much like his father. Dudley either still remembered that day with the window or it was a subconscious reaction, because he always took the attitude of caution around her. That didn't stop his mouth from running when he saw her, but the rest of the time they mostly ignored each other.

As for Bobby, well, it seemed to Holly that he was very much the second child in his parent's eyes. Holly knew that when her Uncle and Aunt had decided to have a baby when Holly was six and a half that they had intended to have a girl. Petunia had been convinced that any daughter of hers would be even more spectacular than Holly, and she had quite resented Bobby when he arrived without the prerequisite gender. Oh they loved him, which was certainly more than Holly could say they felt for her, but Dudley was the heir, Bobby the spare.

"Now, my Duddydums, what are you going to do on your first day of your holidays?" Aunt Petunia asked once she had sat down as well.

This passed for scintillating conversation in the Dursley household.

Dudley regaled his parents with his plans to meet up with Gordon and Malcolm at the park, which afforded Petunia a chance to worry about Dudley catching cold, and Bobby munched on a piece of bacon, then Uncle Vernon interjected about Dudley enjoying himself and passed him a five pound note, and all the while Holly stared down at her bowl in thoughtful silence. She didn't resent the way his parents treated Dudley, not really, but sometimes when they were acting so much like a family, it made Holly's chest ache a little when she thought about all that she was missing.

Holly wasn't able to dwell on such thoughts because there was a sharp rap on the door.

"Get the door, Holly," her Uncle demanded, hiding himself behind his morning paper once more.

Holly rose with alacrity, and walked out into the hall, and opened the front door. There, standing on the stoop, was a stern-looking bespectacled woman with her black hair in a tidy bun, dressed in woolen frock and coat. Something about the woman teased at the back of Holly's mind, like some long forgotten memory. She knew her, though she was certain she hadn't met her before. Yet, something about this woman made Holly automatically think of her mother.

"Hello?" Holly said, watching the woman with wide eyes. "May I help you?"

"I believe so, Miss Potter," the woman said, making Holly gasp. "For you are the very person I have come to see."


End file.
